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Bea's Pony
By Anonymous Author (address withheld)
First published by TheEditor

***

Bea has some unusual experiences while visiting her 
sister in Texas. (MM-teens/F, rough, reluc, FF-bi, inc, 
beast, orgy)

***

Chapter 1

I had an opportunity to visit my sister last fall when 
an oddball assignment took me to Texas. I don't usually 
like to leave New York in the fall. To my way of 
thinking it's the nicest time of the year to be in the 
city, but I accepted anyway, as I had not seen Helen 
for some time.

My work as a senior editor on the staff of Pet World 
normally confined me to the office, but occasionally, 
just to get out and around, I would take a story, 
especially if it was of an unusual nature.

My sister lived in Irving, a suburb of Dallas on the 
Forth Worth side, and I had never visited her there 
before. Helen had lived in New Jersey before her 
husband was transferred, when we used to visit each 
other quite regularly. I would spend weekends in 
Pompton Lakes, and during the week Helen would come 
into the city and stay at my place overnight.

We had always been close, Helen and I, as close as any 
two sisters could be, even though Helen was several 
years older than I, and for a time after she moved to 
Texas I felt her absence keenly.

At twenty-eight I was still unmarried. Helen had 
married a year or two out of high school but had never 
had any children. Her husband, Jack, had been working 
for years with the same company, one of the big tire 
concerns, as a salesman.

When I knew I was going to be visiting them, I tried to 
visualize Jack. He was rather a nondescript type and 
hard to remember in your mind's eye after you hadn't 
seen him for a while.  He was a pleasant enough person, 
however, and I was certain that Helen had made a happy 
marriage in many respects.

Helen was at the airport to meet me when I arrived in 
Dallas.  I first saw her waving madly from behind the 
little fence separating the visitors from the departure 
area. She was wearing dark glasses, and had on a light 
blue cotton dress. She seemed overjoyed that I had come 
to see her.

"Oh, Bea, I'm so happy you've come. You look grand," 
she said, kissing me on the cheek.

"Never thought I'd make it to Texas, did you?" I said 
jokingly.

We stood there just looking at each other for a full 
thirty seconds, people milling past us. She had gotten 
a little chubby, I thought, and I wondered how I 
appeared to her.

Finally, my arm around her waist, I walked her over to 
the luggage area.

"How's Jack?" I asked.

"Same old Jack," she replied. "He's out of town for a 
few days. Houston and Galveston. I hope he comes back 
before you have to leave. How long do you have? You 
didn't say."

"A couple of days or so," I said. "I have to visit 
Denton, as you know."

"It isn't far, Bea," she said quickly, "and you can use 
my car. Maybe I could go with you," she added 
hopefully, and then rather guardedly, "unless it's some 
big deal."

"I promise to tell you all," I said, reassuring her 
with a smile. Close as we were, Helen and I understood 
I had always been the more reticent one when it came to 
my private life. Helen, on the other hand, had always 
confided in me her innermost thoughts and secrets.

My suitcase arrived finally and we walked out through 
the terminal. Helen drove very fast on the way home. 
The freeway system looked quite efficiently designed. 
The city of Dallas, too, had a shiny compactness to it 
as I observed its skyline.

"Didn't know you had so many tall buildings," I 
remarked.

"Why, Ma'am," she drawled in imitation of a Texas 
cowpoke, "didn't you all know everything's big in 
Texas."

We laughed at that, and she told me a slightly dirty 
joke having to do with big Texans. It put me in mind of 
what I knew had been a personal problem of hers.

"You still have that thing about Jack?" I asked her 
after we had been quiet for a few moments. I could see 
her blush and turn to look out the window to her left. 
She did not answer, and I dropped it.

It was a sore point, but occasionally she had wanted to 
talk about it, had even for a while visited a 
psychiatrist in an effort to overcome her feelings.

It seems that at the time she married she had built up 
in her mind a mental image of what a man's erect penis 
should look like.  She had visions on her wedding 
night, I guess of some enormous thing stuffing itself 
into her, and was fully, in fact, eagerly awaiting to 
receive such an organ.

As luck would have it, Jack turned out to be a man with 
a very small one. "No bigger than your index finger," 
she had told me the first time, scarcely concealing the 
disappointment in her voice.

She had told me more than once of the times they had 
had intercourse when she had felt so empty, so 
"unfilled" as she would describe it. She had loved 
Jack, and had realized it was silly to let it bother 
her, and had tried to overlook it.

The doctors had told her it was all in her mind, that 
the size of the penis had nothing to do with it. Her 
psychiatrist had once tried hypnosis. For a time Jack 
had even used a rubber extender while they were having 
intercourse to fatten and lengthen out his tool, but 
the extender was a flop, too.

"It doesn't have any blood in it," Helen had told me 
after it had been tried out a few times. "I know it 
just isn't alive." After a few drinks she had been able 
to stand the thing, however, and on those occasions had 
consented to letting him use it in her.

During our discussions I had always been at a loss as 
to how to console her. It would have been easy just to 
agree with the doctors, but in my own heart I knew I 
would have been lying to my sister. I had been and 
still am single and had been reluctant to pour out to 
her what I had known from my own experience.

Also, I had not wanted in any way to have appeared to 
be criticizing her husband. Sometimes those chickens 
come home to roost, and I had not wanted to risk 
alienating my sister then or now.

It was true, though, that the size of a man's penis 
makes a difference. The medical books and sex manuals 
were all written by men. Men would naturally pooh-pooh 
the idea as it had too great a potential for pointing 
the finger of inadequacy at many of them.

My own experience told me that there can be nothing 
like the feeling of depth and contentment, of total 
repletion, on being filled with a healthy-sized organ. 
And what more marvelous things happen when it moves 
inside you!

The city of Irving turned out to be a residential 
community, rather flat like much of Texas, with neat 
houses and trim yards, and none of the homes looking 
too terribly old. We pulled up into the driveway of 
one, and I could hear a dog barking.

"You still have Clyde!" I exclaimed, remembering the 
tricolored collie they had owned in New Jersey.

For some reason my sister blushed a florid red as she 
got out her side of the car. "Yes," she said. "Why 
not?"

"Why, I'll be glad to see him," I said, hopping out. 
"Good old Clyde!" I ran to the front door and could 
hear him jumping up against it alternately barking and 
whining and scratching at the wood.

Helen opened the door, and he bounded out rushing 
between us.  He got to the sidewalk, wheeled around, 
and came back. He was panting madly, and jumped up, 
first at Helen, and then at me, sniffing curiously.

"Get down, Clyde!" Helen was shouting.

Sniffing at me, he suddenly froze when it appeared he 
was in the area of my crotch. He brought his nose 
closer to my dress, and I backed away instinctively.

"Clyde!" Helen screamed, grabbing him by the fur. 
"That's enough." It took all her strength to pull him 
back toward the door, but she seemed determined to get 
him back inside.

"It's all right, Helen," I said, feeling a little 
guilty for having backed off. "He's just happy." I 
followed them inside the house.

She had taken him to the basement door and had shut him 
inside. She was huffing, out of breath. "He can be so 
exuberant, Bea. You'll have to pay no attention to 
him," she said. Flushing, she dropped her shoulder bag 
on the sofa and flopped down herself.

I sat down in a chair. It was a warm day, but cool in 
the house. Evidently the central air conditioning was 
still connected.  I stood up again to remove the coat I 
was wearing.

"He may do some strange things," Helen was saying, 
still flushing. Her eyes were curiously avoiding mine. 
"Just make him mind. He'll stop." She looked about the 
living room. "Well," she said, changing the subject, 
"let's get you settled. I'll get your bag." She got up 
from the sofa, and walked over to a doorway off the 
living room. "First, I'll show you your room. "

I rose and followed her into a short halfway that led 
first to a small sewing room on the right. The second 
door on the right was a bedroom. Across the hall from 
it was a half bath.

"You'll have to bathe upstairs, Sis, but there's a john 
here and a sink," she said, turning on the light in the 
bathroom.

"Okay by me," I said. The small bedroom looked quite 
cozy. It held a double bed, a night table beside it, 
and a small chest of drawers. There was a full length 
mirror on the inside of the closet door. I flopped on 
the bed while Helen got my bag.

I lay there thinking how nice it was to be waited on 
for a change, and it was true. I had always allowed my 
older sister to wait on me ever since I could remember. 
I had missed the attention since she had moved to 
Texas, and it came to me lying there just how much.

"Here we are," she said, coming in with my grip. She 
set it down and came over to the bed, seating herself 
on the edge. "I'm so glad to see you, Bea." She leaned 
over and kissed me lightly on the cheek. Her breath 
smelled so clean. Her eyes were misty, and I wanted to 
reach up and embrace her.

"I keep hoping you'll move back to New York," I said 
wistfully.

The thought struck her as a remote one. "Perhaps," she 
said after a moment. She patted me on the thigh. "I'll 
let you relax now. Take a nap, sweetie. I'll get some 
dinner going, and we'll have a long chat when you wake 
up." She rose, adjusting the belt on her dress.

Feeling the belt at both sides of her waist, she took 
in a deep breath, and I was given visual reminder of 
the amplitude of her breasts. Helen's development there 
had always been a source of envy while we were growing 
up.

I remembered back when I was only just beginning to 
show there myself, watching her take baths, and later 
begging my mother to tell me if mine were going to be 
that big when I was in high school.

My own breasts had never quite made it, not to the 
extent of Helen's anyway, and I felt a twinge as some 
of the original feeling of disappointment came over me.

She left, closing the door behind her, and I sat up to 
take off my shoes. My feet and legs were tired. I 
reached up under my skirt and pulled the panty hose 
down over my legs. The cooled air in the room felt good 
on my bare legs, and I walked around the room letting 
it play over them.

I took off the dress and hung it in the closet, looking 
at myself in the mirror. A full length mirror was 
something of a treat as I did not have one at home, and 
I gazed at the full figure before me as if for the 
first time.

Reaching behind me with both hands I unclasped the bra 
and allowed my breasts their full freedom. They were 
big enough, I supposed. Some slight amount of curve on 
both sides did protrude beyond the line of my rib cage 
when they were viewed from the front, which was more 
than some girls could say.

I still had a waistline, too. At twenty-eight I didn't 
need to wear a girdle yet. I turned sideways at the 
mirror and ran my flattened palm down my tummy. 
Perfect, I thought.

Running my hand down inside my panties, I scratched at 
the matted hair. Farther down it felt a little sweaty, 
so I removed the panties and went back to the bed. I 
lay down on my back with legs spread and my knees up in 
the air, letting it all air out.

It itched down there, and absently I ran a finger down 
along the lips slightly parting them. I must have dozed 
off because the next thing I knew I was dreaming.

Something was happening to me down there. It felt warm 
and wet. I was conscious of the strangest movements as 
if a dozen fragile fingertips were playing upon it with 
just the right amount of pressure. At the same time it 
was throbbing wildly, and I knew I was going to have an 
orgasm.

I guess I began to gasp in my sleep for I was conscious 
of making sounds. The feeling was building in intensity 
to the point where I had to wake up, which I did 
suddenly with a start, and before I had reached a 
climax.

It took me a few seconds to realize what had been 
happening. I noticed Clyde right away, his feet up on 
the foot of the bed, his tongue hanging out, but I 
could not associate the dog immediately with what had 
brought me almost to the point of coming. My vulva was 
aflame and tingling madly.

Clyde cocked his head to one side, closed his mouth 
briefly, and stretched his head forward into my crotch. 
Instantly I knew what he had been doing and got up 
quickly onto my knees.

"Clyde, you old rascal," I said, grabbing him by the 
scruff around his ears with both hands. "You devil, 
you. What do you think you're doing?"

He licked forward at my face greedily. I noticed his 
pink thing had begun to come out of its sheath, and he 
was humping slightly at the end of the bed.

Good heavens, I thought. He means to do me as if I were 
some bitch in heat. Is it possible? The thought of the 
big furry Collie doing it to me raced through my brain. 
I was already hot. Dare I get down on the floor on all 
fours and see if he would?

The thought just about drove me wild. I had to fight 
the feeling off. What if Helen should walk in? What on 
earth would I say to her?

I tried hard to think of the utter preposterousness of 
the whole idea in order to bring me back to my senses. 
It occurred to me that if I got my clothes back on, it 
might help me recover my sanity.

I jumped off the bed. My panties were lying on the 
floor.  Clyde was already up on his hind feet pawing at 
my thighs as I kept turning to keep him in front of me, 
but I had to kneel down slightly in order to reach for 
the panties. He was on top of me in an instant, humping 
away instinctively. I was up in a second.

"Down, Clyde!" I commanded. "Down!"

Somehow I managed to put my panties on and was 
struggling with the bra when Helen walked into the 
room.

"Clyde!" she screamed. "Out of this room, out of this 
room, right now." She pointed to the door while 
literally glaring at him.  Clyde left the room 
obediently. She must have noticed then the pink streaks 
his claws had made. "Oh, Bea," she said. "It's all my 
fault. I should have kept him in the basement."

She came up to me and carefully stroked the thin 
markings with her gentle fingers, and we both sat down 
on the edge of the bed.

"I had better tell you about Clyde," she began.

"What's happened to him?" I asked, still bewildered. 
"Do you know, I think he wanted to have intercourse 
with me."

She held my left hand in her lap. "Bea, dear," she went 
on, "I have always told you most everything about my 
private life." She blushed. "I suppose this is really 
no-different than a lot of things, but it may seem," 
She hesitated. "It may seem, well, unnatural to you 
when I tell you."

"Go on, Sis," I urged her.

"It all started after we moved here from New Jersey. 
Jack was home that whole month while we were getting 
settled, and Clyde, well, I was a little worried about 
him at first. He moped around for weeks, didn't seem to 
have an appetite. I just assumed he was going through a 
period of adjustment.

"Well, Jack finally was sent out of town, and I was 
left here alone for the first time, with Clyde of 
course. Clyde seemed to change immediately followed me 
around the house, everywhere, even upstairs which he 
never did before.

"It got to be he was making me a nervous wreck. When I 
would turn suddenly in the middle of the room, I would 
almost trip over him, he was hugging that close behind 
me.

"I had been having my period, was just over it as a 
matter of fact, and had gone to the bathroom to pee. 
Clyde followed me inside and stood, his head just about 
touching my knees. He was panting and had a glazed look 
in his eyes.

"Naturally I pushed him away, told him to get out of 
there, but he came right back. I tried patting him on 
the head and calling him nice names. This seemed to 
merely encourage him. He stopped panting, licked his 
lips, and began snaking his head forward as if to get 
it between my legs.

"At first I thought maybe he was thirsty. You know how 
he likes to drink water from the toilet bowl. I love 
the pooch so much, I thought, well, go ahead. Let him 
have a drink while I was sitting there. I hadn't gone 
yet, so I spread my legs.

"Well, Bea, he didn't want a drink. He went straight 
for my pussy. Just dove right in, started licking and 
slurping like it was dripping with honey. I thought I 
was going to go out of my head.

"I closed my legs on his head almost automatically, but 
then, as the feeling swept over me, I gradually opened 
them again. Bea, he was making me come, right there on 
the toilet seat. I could feel it coming over me in 
waves. I could do nothing, I tell you, nothing.

"I gave in to it. He kept licking and licking, his 
tongue going in and around everything. Finally I felt 
that first big jolt, you know, when you go up over and 
you know you've come. I guess I gave out a little cry. 
It scared him and he backed off.

"I must have lain back on the seat for what seemed an 
eternity. It took me awhile to come down. Yes, Bea, it 
was a real long one, several minutes anyway.

"Clyde was sitting in the doorway just looking at me 
and panting merrily. I could see his pink penis poking 
its way out. I remember wondering how long it would be 
when it came all the way out, and I wondered next if he 
would - would, you know, do it to me.

"Don't look shocked, Bea. I was so hot, I didn't know 
if I was coming or going. I had just had the biggest 
climax of my life and wanted more. You know what my 
life has been with Jack.

"I took my underpants the rest of the way off, and got 
down on the floor on my hands and knees. I crawled like 
that to the doorway and when I got there gave Clyde the 
biggest hug I think I had ever given him, the big furry 
pooch. He licked at my ear as I embraced him. I was 
deliriously happy.

"My knees were really shaking though, Bea. I knew what 
Clyde was likely to do. I wanted it badly but I was 
afraid at the same time, afraid he might hurt me 
unintentionally.

"I crept past him down the hall and stopped. I crossed 
my arms on the floor and lay my head on them, looking 
back to see what Clyde would do. My fanny was poked way 
out in back. He came trotting right after me, of 
course.

"At first he started licking me, which I don't have to 
tell you set me wild all over again. He stopped that 
and started to whine, then he placed a paw on my back. 
I knew by that he was going to try to mount me.

"He got both front paws on my back, and I could see him 
start to hump at the air. At the same time I could see 
it begin to come out. He moved in closer, and I shut my 
eyes waiting for whatever would happen. I remember 
thinking it was going to poke and jab terribly.

"Instead I felt the softest nudging all over my vulva. 
It was as if someone with very soft lips were kissing 
me repeatedly without any particular target in mind. 
But I knew what the thing was nudging at me like that 
and strained upward at it, spreading my lips as much as 
I was able.

"The instant it nudged into the right spot, it never 
once lost sight of it again, and I had this incredible 
sensation of something very warm and firm plunging into 
me. It seemed to go in and in and in. I don't think 
anything that long had ever gone in there before.

"Finally I felt all his fur up against me there. He 
seemed to dig in then, pushing hard on me. His front 
paws clung tightly to me as he pressed his head against 
my ribs.

"I found myself responding, too, rocking back against 
him as he pushed into me. I was about to come again and 
lost control as the feeling became more intense. I 
think I must have fallen forward when I came. Clyde had 
stopped humping and had placed both feet on the floor 
beside me.

"He was licking my arms and face. I could feel his 
organ still plugged up into me even though it must have 
been twisted for him to have been standing in that 
position. I remember wondering why he didn't take it 
out.

"Not that I wanted him to, mind you. It didn't seem to 
go all soft like Jack's does after. It was still 
swollen, and I felt myself closed around it in a kind 
of heavenly seal. We stayed like that for what seemed 
like forever.

"Clyde started whining and pulling on it after awhile. 
It didn't seem to budge, and it occurred to me it was 
my fault he couldn't extract it. I started taking long, 
deep breaths in an effort to relax, and all at once it 
slipped out.

"He took a few steps and sat down, reaching around with 
his snout to carefully lick his exhausted thing. I 
crawled over to him and gave him another hug.

"Well, that was it," Helen said. "Ever since, Clyde and 
I have been lovers. When Jack is home I keep Clyde in 
the basement as much as possible." Something struck her 
as amusing. "Jack suspects I have a human lover. He 
sees the change in me." She giggled at the thought.

I looked at my sister in near disbelief. It was an 
amazing story, and one that though it had to do with a 
pet could never appear in Pet World. I wondered at my 
own feelings about Clyde.

"Like all males, he has a roving eye, your Clyde," I 
said remembering my own predicament a few moments ago.

"If you want to," Helen said, blushing again. "I mean, 
I wouldn't mind if you wanted him to-"

"Do it to me?" I asked. "No thanks," I said. "I prefer 
the two-legged kind." A tug at my throat at the 
suggestion, however, indicated to me I was probably 
lying. I had been affected, by both the incident and 
Helen's story. If I could just try it without anyone 
finding out about it, I thought.

"Well then," she announced, kissing me on the shoulder. 
"Let's have some dinner." She left me then to finish 
dressing.

Clyde soon reappeared at the door. He seemed almost 
human now that I had heard Helen's story. I called to 
him and he came over to where I was dressing. I patted 
him softly the head. "Nice Clyde.  You is a nice 
doggie," I said, speaking a kind of baby talk to him. 
He wagged his tail in appreciation.

After that he began following me everywhere in the 
house. It was as if he had transferred his affections 
from my sister to me.

I kept expecting her to make some resentful comment 
about it, but she seemed not to notice.

Later, in the kitchen, she was telling me about some 
French ticklers Jack had brought home from Mexico. It 
sounded like something Jack would do, trying his best 
always to make up for the dirty trick nature had played 
on him.

Clyde was lying on the floor between our chairs looking 
up at me.

"Tell me about Denton," she asked enthusiastically.

"There's a man there who has developed a breed of pony 
about the size of a large dog," I told her.

"Pony as a horse?" she wondered.

"Right. What's more, he claims they can be 
housebroken."

She looked at me as if I had been weaving some fairy 
tale. "Keep a pony in the house." She said the words 
slowly and individually as if to make sure she was 
hearing me right.

"No doubt about it," I said, having to laugh myself. 
"He has been advertising in Pet World, and we decided 
it was time to do a feature on it." I knew she had 
wanted to come with me and reminded her.

"Sounds screwy," she commented. "I won't get in your 
way, will I?" she wanted to know.

"Not at all," I said. "Wear something breezy tomorrow 
and you can pose with the ponies. It's always better to 
have people in the pictures." I could see the 
excitement building in her eyes.

She began suggesting some things to wear. The weather 
was still warm, she noted. We finally agreed on 
hotpants and a very sheer jersey pullover.

We sat and talked about old times for several hours, 
did the dishes together and talked some more. Helen 
mixed highballs for us afterward. We had a second round 
and began to get a little giddy.

"Why don't you come upstairs and sleep with me, Bea?" 
she asked. "There's no reason to stay downstairs with 
Jack gone."

It sounded like a good idea. Helen had slept with me 
often, even after we had grown and left home. It had 
been some time since I had enjoyed the comfort of a 
warm body next to me in bed. I looked down at Clyde. 
"What about your pooch?" I asked. "Isn't he expecting 
any tonight?"

We both began to giggle uncontrollably. Clyde raised 
his head as if somehow knowing our mirth was because of 
him. He appeared perplexed, looking first at one of us 
and then at the other. His actions only made us laugh 
more.

Helen suddenly lifted her dress and dug her finger down 
inside her panties. "Here, Clyde," she cooed at him, 
extending the moist finger at his snout.

Cocking his head at the finger, he raised himself up, 
all the time sniffing carefully. Barking twice, he 
placed his front paws on her dress, wagging his tail 
and licking at her nervously. He became extremely 
agitated as he had been earlier in my bedroom.

"Aw, Sis," I pleaded. "That's cruel, teasing him."

"Who's teasing," she winked, getting down on all fours 
with her behind aimed at him.

"You're not-?" I screamed and got up from the chair. 
"Helen, no! Not in front of me." I began blushing 
furiously and ran from the kitchen.

"Come back, come back!" she cried, laughing. "I'm only 
kidding. Come on back!"

I poked my head back into the kitchen. She had gotten 
on her feet and was smoothing her dress. Clyde, still 
agitated, kept trying to place one paw on her thigh. 
Helen I had to conclude was still full of the devil.

"You're always doing things like that," I said, coming 
back in.

"It's because you're such a prude." She crinkled her 
nose. "Sometimes," she added.

She shut Clyde in the basement and we walked upstairs, 
our arms around each other.

I got undressed first and got into bed, watching Helen 
take her clothes off. The extra weight she was carrying 
since last we met seemed to be on her hips and thighs. 
The fat was not rumpled, though. The skin was still 
smooth in texture.

When she removed her bra and those lovely globes 
spilled outward, my heart skipped a beat. They had only 
developed the tiniest amount of sag over the years.

"Sweets," I said. "Why don't you go braless tomorrow? 
It will look good under a jersey."

You really think so?" she asked, pushing her breasts in 
toward each other with the heels of her palms. They 
formed a massive cleavage at the center. Slowly she 
released the pressure against them and allowed her 
hands to move across them until the fingers meshed. She 
dropped her clasped hands.

"They're still just as lovely as ever," I said, just as 
envious as ever.

She cupped a hand under one as if estimating its 
weight.  "Pound for pound, you can't find a better 
buy," she said, looking down at it, her lower lip 
pursed.

I laughed. "Give me one of those puppies with the brown 
nose, too." I watched her as she removed her panties. 
Her round little tummy pouted just the right amount. 
She had less hair on her than I did. Mine tended to 
grow wide to the sides and down on the insides of my 
thighs, necessitating shaving.

Helen, on the other hand, was blessed with a perfectly 
shaped thatch. It seemed better coordinated with the 
figure somehow.

She came over to the bed and got under the covers. 
After all these years we were still sleeping in the 
nude. I snuggled up to her, drinking in the warm smell 
of her. She reached over to turn out the light and put 
her arm around me, her breasts pressed against mine.

"Goodnight, Bea," she said.

"Night," I answered, slowly fading.


Chapter 2


The drive to Denton the next day took us about an hour. 
It was a warm October day, the temperature well up in 
the seventies. My appointment with the breeder was at 
ten o'clock, and we had allowed for plenty of time.

Helen had taken my suggestion and not worn a bra. As I 
watched her at the wheel, I could see how the material 
of the jersey she was wearing hugged the firm shape of 
her breasts. The least little rocking motion of the car 
caused them to bob deliciously.

I had worn a skirt and blouse, and had taken a cardigan 
sweater to look a little bit more dressed up than for 
any other reason. I was bare-legged with only loafers 
on my feet.

Helen looked much more casual, and could have been 
mistaken for my younger sister than what was actually 
the case. She hummed a tune whenever there was a long 
pause in our conversation.

The farm was located a few miles outside of Denton and 
was known as the Ho-Ho-Pony Estates. A big sign bearing 
the name was positioned near the long dirt driveway 
leading to the main buildings, and we could see some 
horses and conventional sized ponies grazing in the 
pasture on either side.

A tall, lean Texan greeted us when we pulled into the 
compound. He was wearing a battered hat which shaded a 
rather weather-worn face. I noticed though he was clean 
shaven. He wore levis and didn't tuck them inside his 
boots.

"Mornin' ladies," he hailed us. Noticing the camera 
hanging from my shoulder as I got out, he said, "You 
must be the lady from New York, be you?" he asked.

I nodded. "I'm Beatrice Starr," I said, "and this is my 
sister, Mrs. Smallwood."

He tipped his hat. "Pleased to meet you. I be Hack 
Raver, the foreman here. The owner, Mr. Cunningham, is 
tied up at the moment butıll be here presently," he 
said, looking us over with undisguised interest. "What 
you can do, if you want, is walk around the place for 
yourselves. Or I can take you."

He waited to see what we might choose to do.

"I imagine," I said, looking around, "we could do that, 
just walk around by ourselves until Mr. Cunningham is 
free."

"Whatever you ladies want, I'm at your service," he 
said, tipping his hat again. "Them new ponies is over 
in that barn, there." He pointed to a low, one story 
building that was probably the newest structure in the 
compound.

Helen nudged me as we walked toward the new barn. "Why 
didn't you want him to show us around?" she. asked. 
"Did you see that bulge in his pants?"

I hadn't noticed, but Helen was always alert to such 
things.  "He's too eager," I said. "I'd rather wait for 
Cunningham." We looked back. The Texan was standing 
there watching us. He took the little-finger side of 
his hand and made a move at the "bulge" Helen had 
noticed as if to adjust it.

We walked into the barn. The ponies were tied in small 
stalls on either side. They were quite small for ponies 
as I had, of course, anticipated. I judged them to be 
roughly the size of a St.  Bernard or Newfoundland dog. 
They were amazingly sleek and clean looking.

I walked down along the stalls slowly, thinking there 
wasn't much in the way of an interesting picture to be 
taken there with nothing but rear ends facing the 
camera.

One mare was in heat. She had thrown her tail straight 
up, and the hole was opening and closing rhythmically. 
Each time it opened rather violently, and I could see 
into the pink vastness of what was beyond.

I looked into some of the other stalls, wondering if 
the stallions had been gelded. It appeared that many of 
them had been.

One chestnut-colored male pony obviously had not been 
touched.  He was straining at the ropes securing his 
neck, tugging backward, and pawing at the floor with 
one front hoof.

Glancing down, I noticed his thing was out stiff and 
hard. I gulped. It almost touched the floor. He 
underwent some kind of reflexive action with it, 
bringing it up from the floor and whacking it 
resoundingly against his belly. It seemed then to 
slowly shrink except for the head, collapsing 
accordion-like.

In my experience looking at animals it occurred to me 
that of all animals only the members of the horse 
family seemed to have things that anywhere resembled a 
man's. I looked around to see if Helen had been 
watching and was surprised to see that she was not even 
in the barn.

"Helen?" I called instinctively.

Walking out into the compound, I saw that Helen was 
nowhere to be seen. A few chickens lazily picked their 
way here and there a step at a time, but not much else 
was happening. Were there no stable boys around, I 
wondered? Whatever activity was pursued on the place, I 
decided, must happen somewhere other than where I could 
see it.

"Yo, Helen!" I yelled.

A likely place to begin looking for her seemed to be an 
old fashioned gambrel-roofed barn directly across from 
the pony stables. I had to walk up an incline to enter 
this barn. The massive sliding door had a much smaller 
conventional type door in it which I opened easily.

Inside it took me a few moments to adjust to the 
semidarkness but I could hear voices and the sound of 
laughter immediately. The voices seemed to be coming 
from directly overhead. I strained to look above me but 
saw no apparent stairway or opening in the ceiling.

I walked back farther into the barn, past some heavy 
farm machinery that appeared to have been parked there 
a long time.  There wasn't much space to squeeze past, 
and a lot of the equipment had protruding parts that 
caught at my sweater.

About two-thirds of the way back, I noticed a ladder 
propped up against an open trap door in the ceiling. 
Carefully stepping up each rung, I stopped when my eyes 
reached the level of the floor above. It appeared to be 
a hayloft.

Hauling myself up onto the floor, I began to crawl 
towards the front of the barn in the direction of the 
voices. I was moving closer to the sounds when I 
recognized the laugh as belonging to Helen. The other 
voice was Mr. Raver's.

The hay was piled high in front of me and seemed 
insurmountable. I found a low spot all the way over on 
one side and crawled up over it. Soon I was able to see 
just what the two of them were up to. A tiny window 
illuminated the scene.

Helen was lying down on the hay on her back with her 
head pointed toward my vantage point. Raver was seated 
at her feet and were he to have lifted his gaze one 
inch would have been looking right at me.

Raver evidently had been telling a few Texas jokes.

"Go on," Helen was saying. "You Texans like to brag, I 
think. Everything's not that big here."

"Well, now, ma'am, most everything that's real Texas 
is.  'Course we got a lot of foreigners in the state 
now, and what they bring in with them, I can't vouch 
for, but if it's home grown Texas, you can bet it's 
mighty big." He turned toward her.

She was teasing him. I could see her rolling her body 
slightly. She raised one knee and rocked it from side 
to side, and I saw him look down at what she must have 
been revealing at that moment.

I could see his neck reddening. "Now, ma'am," he 
swallowed.  The bulge in his levi's began extending way 
to one side and then ballooned outward. He loosened his 
belt with one hand and got up on his knees. "I'm just 
gonna have to prove it to you, I guess."

He tore open the fly, and his thing bounded out. I saw 
Helen sit up suddenly, and was conscious of a sharp 
intake of my own breath. It was huge. Bigger than any 
man's I had ever seen. I felt a slight burning 
sensation in my vulva.

He moved forward on his knees closer to Helen, and I 
stared, transfixed by the thing as it bobbed up and 
down.

"Get a feel of it," he urged, reaching for her hand. 
"It's all Texas beef" Her hand seemed so tiny as she 
clasped it about midway along its length.

"Gosh!" she breathed. "I didn't think." She stammered 
for a second or two. "It's just so big," she finally 
said. Her hand moved down along it, squeezing it 
occasionally as a housewife might squeeze fruit at a 
market.

She stopped at the base and began moving her hand up it 
again.  "It's so smooth. Jack's is bumpy and veiny," 
she told him. When she reached the apple-shaped head at 
the end of it, she gave it a particular squeeze. Raver 
let out a shriek of pleasure.

Spurred on by the effect of her squeeze, she leaned 
forward and began showering the end of it with kisses.

"Now, ma'am," he gasped, having difficulty with his 
breathing. "Don't you want to try this out 'fore it all 
goes to waste."

She was placing her tongue on the end of it now. I 
noticed the sac containing his testicles pull up and 
almost disappear into the base of his penis.

"Ma'am!" he cried out, pitching forward.

She had just placed her mouth around the swollen head 
when I saw his whole frame convulse abruptly. He closed 
his eyes and grabbed at her hair, his body apparently 
racked with spasms.

He was coming! I hadn't realized it because it had 
happened so soon.

Helen was gulping spastically. Much of the end of his 
tool was well inside her mouth. Poor girl. It was 
probably pumping into her faster than she could swallow 
it.

When the last of it had gone down her throat, she fell 
back gasping for breath. Still on his knees, Raver, 
too, sat back on his heels, his face turned upward, 
eyes closed, his chest heaving. The massive instrument 
had softened and somehow it seemed less formidable.

"Beggin' your pardon, ma'am," he said after a minute, 
"but never play with a loaded gun. No tellin' just when 
itıll go off."

"Oh!" Helen was still gasping. "Oh! There was so much. 
Do you always come so much?" she managed to ask between 
breaths.

"That's real Texas cock, ma'am," he said almost in a 
matter of fact tone.

She sat up, her breathing gradually returning to 
normal.  Picking up the fallen piece of meat, she 
lifted it in a way that suggested she was testing its 
weight. "Gosh!" she exclaimed. "Even soft, it still 
must weigh a ton."

I suspected that Helen was far from satisfied. It had 
never gotten anywhere near the place that counted. If 
the throbbing in my own pussy was any indication, she 
must still be quite hot.

Fishing around in my bag, I looked for something I 
could stick between my legs and squeeze. I found a 
plastic roller for setting hair that for some reason 
had been dumped there. It was a fat one with holes 
along it and seemed to have some give to it.

I placed it between my thighs up against my throbbing 
crotch and squeezed on it, at the same time working my 
thighs forward and back, first one and then the other. 
It was better than nothing. In the meantime, I kept my 
eyes glued to the scene in front of me.

Helen had moved forward and though I could not clearly 
see, it appeared she was pushing the soft head of his 
penis into her vulva.  Her shorts were lying on the hay 
to the side.

"Wup!" she snorted. "He's still oozing from the last 
one. At least I'm getting a little bit of it." She 
reached forward to where it joined his body and 
grasping it, pulled forward compressing her fingers at 
the same time.

Evidently a lot of come had remained inside because 
both suddenly blurted out laughing.

"Good to the last drop," Raver said.

It had begun to swell again. The couple became more 
agitated as it rose once more into the air. The thing 
seemed fatter this time, and redder. Helen lay back in 
a near swoon in anticipation.  Raver moved forward over 
her placing his weight on his hands.

Because of its length, he had to raise his butt high 
while she placed the end of it at the precise spot. I 
could see his buttocks tighten as he began to thrust it 
forward. As it packed in I heard Helen groan, and I 
felt as if I were suddenly sharing the thrill of its 
entry into her.

From what I could see, most of it had gone in, too. 
Raver had settled into a quick in and out movement and 
had reached up under her shoulders with his hands where 
he held her tightly. He seemed to be trying to stuff as 
much of it inside her as was possible. I had never seen 
a man drive so hard.

Helen had wrapped her legs around his body and was 
responding to his thrusts by pushing upward. She was 
going to find out now, I thought, that size means 
something after all.

With all the activity going on, they had managed to 
turn clockwise about a quarter of a circle so that now 
I commanded a view of that marvelous machine as it 
jammed away at her. It appeared that several inches had 
yet to go on in.

I was still squeezing the roller between my legs and 
began to feel the first tug at my innards as the 
pleasureful sensation began to build inside me. It was 
taking a hell of a lot of energy to get myself off this 
way.

Helen had begun making the little clipped whines she 
was prone to utter as her orgasm approached. When the 
last one trailed off into a long sigh, I knew she had 
come.

Raver's testicles did that same melting action up into 
his groin that I had noticed before. He suddenly slowed 
his pumping and collapsed on her, convulsing 
spasmodically.

As my own climax arrived, I had to place a palm tightly 
over my mouth to avoid giving myself away. Having 
worked so hard to get it, the jolt left me utterly 
debilitated, like an athlete out of shape, and I wanted 
to sink miles into the hay.

I must have slept for awhile, for when I became 
conscious of my surroundings again, it was very quiet 
in the barn. I sat up and looked over where Helen and 
Raver had been, and they were no longer there.

Crawling along the floor, I reached the trap and 
climbed down the ladder. In a moment I was outside. 
Hearing voices inside the pony barn, I entered it to 
find Helen, Raver, and a man I presumed to be 
Cunningham engaged in conversation.

"This must be your sister," the man said, breaking away 
from them and coming toward me. He was rather a pudgy 
man, but well-dressed, and spoke with a soft drawl.

"Good grief, Bea!" Helen exclaimed. "We thought maybe 
you had run off with a hired hand."

"Only hand around here I know is Hack," I said, winking 
at her, amused at myself for making her blush.

"Yes indeed, ma'am," Hack said, "and I'm at your 
service." He seemed pleased as pie with himself.

Cunningham began telling us then a little of the 
history of his operation. It seems he had crossed a 
small Icelandic stallion with an unusually small 
Shetland mare he discovered at a carnival.  He then 
bred the progeny with other Icelandics breeding back 
only those ponies that held their small size.

"That Shetland is the true prototype," he said. "Bought 
her for only twenty-five bucks from the carny guys, 
too. Been selling these for forty times that," he said 
proudly.

I was busily taking down everything in a little 
notebook I carried as we strolled past the stalls.

"The Icelandic gives them that clean look. Don't smell 
as much, either," he informed us. "You take a Shetland 
into a house, itıll smell like a barn right off. A 
Shetland'll bite, too. Can be mean. These ponies," he 
said, extending his arm in an arc, "are as gentle as a 
lamb."

I asked him about pictures, and he went into one of the 
stalls and untied the pony occupying it. With just a 
hand on its neck he guided the pony out. He walked back 
towards the open barn door to the sunlight.

"See that?" he asked. "Don't need a halter.

Kids can ride without a saddle, too. Just grab hold of 
the mane." He clutched a bunch of the beautiful white 
hairs then let them go.

"They're just adorable," Helen said, stroking the 
pony's flank.

"Here," Hack said, lifting Helen by the waist and 
placing her on the pony's back. I noticed his hands run 
up over her breasts as he released her.

"Won't she be too heavy for him?" I wondered.

"Oh, I don't guess she weighs that much," Cunningham 
said. "I wouldn't ride him regular," he added.

We had come outside, and I took a few pictures of the 
pony with Helen seated on him. I took some more of her 
leaning over feeding him some sugar. Cunningham and 
Hack seemed to enjoy that pose as Helen was quite 
generous in revealing her charms. I took some head and 
shoulder shots of Cunningham alone.

"Tell you what," Cunningham said. "Why don't you take a 
pony home with you for a few days. Then you can get 
some good pictures of the animal around the house."

It seemed a good idea. Readers would want to see 
pictures of ponies in a domestic setting since he was 
advertising them as house pets. I looked to see Helen's 
reaction.

"Could we?" she asked, evidently pleased at the idea. 
She leaned down, throwing her arms around the pony's 
neck. "Would you like to come and stay with me for 
awhile?" she cooed.

"I didn't have this particular pony in mind for that," 
he said rather sheepishly, "but I suppose it'll be all 
right."

"What's wrong with this pony?" I asked, curious.

"He's not gelded, is what." Seeing the confusion in our 
faces, he went on. "He's not cut."

"Well, Mr. Cunningham," Helen said almost with 
indignation in her tone, "I know what gelded means. 
What difference does that make?"

"Thing is," Cunningham continued, "if any of you ladies 
come around," He blushed at the term. "If it's that 
time of the month, I mean. This pony being inside the 
house and all, he may get a little aggressive."

I could see the realization of what he was saying sink 
into Helen, and the gleam start building in her eye. 
She shot a quick glance at the animal's genitals. There 
wasn't much of a penis to be seen, but the testicles 
hung like two eggplants side by side.

"Well, we'll just put him in the garage," Helen said, 
the problem solved as far as she was concerned.

"Let me get you a halter and some grain, ma'am," Hack 
said, going back into the barn. Helen followed him 
inside.

"If you have a back yard he can graze in, you don't 
have to grain him but once a day," Cunningham told me, 
practically reading my thoughts. "They've been toilet 
trained to go only when they're standing on grass, but 
you have to take them out at least three times a day. 
Otherwise it's not like a dog. They really let loose," 
he cautioned me.

I had visions of great floods in the living room and 
huge piles on the kitchen floor. Suddenly it didn't 
seem like such a good idea, but I knew that changing 
Helen's mind now would have been very difficult. It was 
her house.

I asked him for the names of some local people who had 
purchased his ponies and had been keeping them as house 
pets for awhile. If I could contact them I might get a 
slant on a long-term situation.

He gave me the name of a man in Highland Park who had 
bought one of his first ponies, a mare.

"Beautiful animal," he said. "Had glass eyes, too, 
which is rare."

"Glass eyes?" I asked.

"Blue eyes, Miss Starr. Beg your pardon. Just an 
expression," he said. He was thumbing through an 
address book.

I jotted that down under the heading of local color and 
then laughed at the unintentional double entendre I had 
created. Another man, he said, a garage owner who lived 
on a lonely farm the other side of Fort Worth, had 
purchased several stallions over the past two years.

"Might be something there," he suggested.

"Man likes them that much to buy More than one."

"You used the word lonely. What did you mean by that?" 
I asked him.

"Creepy place," he replied. "I delivered the first 
pony, myself. House was kind of run down, shades all 
drawn, miles from any other farms. Lots of animals on 
the place, but just this one fellow living alone. 
That's what I meant."

"Many people prefer the company of animals to humans," 
I said. "It's not so strange. How many did he actually 
buy?" I asked.

He did some mental recollection. "Four," he said 
finally. "He bought the last one this past summer."

"And all stallions. No mares or geldings," I repeated. 
"Does he keep them all in the house?"

"Can't say," he shrugged. "Haven't been out there 
since, and the fellow never says much when he's here."

Helen and Hack came out of the barn, my sister leading 
the pale tan animal by a lead rope hooked to the 
halter. Hack carried a small pail of grain.

"Keep him for a few days," Cunningham said to Helen. 
"Maybe you'll want to buy him." He watched Helen as she 
and Hack walked over to the car. We followed them over. 
"They make nice presents, too," he commented. "We also 
have regular ponies and horses," he added.

He seemed to be more interested in Helen than in his 
sales pitch, for after the pony had climbed in upon the 
back seat Helen had bent over to hand-feed the animal 
and was presenting her rear end to us. I could just 
imagine the effect on a man of that plump little butt 
in the hotpants.

"Well now, ladies," Raver drawled. "No reason you've 
got to run off, is there?" I could see what he was 
thinking. "Lots more to see around here." He moved in 
close to the car, appearing to be assisting her with 
the pony. It looked to me like an excuse to touch her.

Sure enough. He must have worked up a half erection and 
pressed it against her because she reacted as if she 
had been tipped with an electric cattle prod. "Uh, 
Hack! I mean, Mr. Raver.  What else is there to see?" 
she asked.

"We've got some beautiful Arabs here," he said, 
pronouncing the word as if it were Ay-rabs. "Them's 
awful nice," he drawled, making it sound as though we 
were really going to be missing something if we turned 
him down.

"Perhaps you ladies would enjoy some refreshments, a 
sandwich," Cunningham suggested, having no idea what 
the two of them might have been thinking at that 
moment. "Come and join me in the kitchen and we'll see 
what there is." He made a motion to accompany him.

"Why don't you go, Bea," Helen suggested. "I'd really 
like to see the horses." Her pretended ingenuousness 
was almost convincing.

"By all means do what you really like, Sis," I said, 
laughing.  "I'm a trifle thirsty, anyway. Have you got 
a cold beer?" I asked Cunningham, throwing my camera 
and sweater on the front seat.

We separated then, Helen and her longhorn Texan walking 
off in the direction of one of the other barns, and 
Cunningham and I strolling over to the house.

"Your sister," he said, "is a very pretty girl. But 
then, so are you."

"I'm glad you added that," I said, not really being 
very interested. He was a short man, pudgy, with fat 
little fingers that had rings on a few of them. The 
sort of man I never, ever had a desire to make it with. 
Invariably, though, the type always had ideas about me.

The farmhouse had a large, old-fashioned kitchen which 
the owner had modernized very little. The plumbing 
fixtures looked new, although I noticed a hand pump at 
the sink. Outside of the cabinetry, though, much of 
what I saw could have been there a hundred years ago.

I was surprised then when he told me the house had 
another kitchen, much smaller and completely modern, on 
the other side of the dining room. The kitchen we were 
sitting in was just for show, he said, and to satisfy 
his feel for antiquated Americana, as he called it.

"Everything in here is just as it was styled in 1880," 
he said, "which was the year the house was built. 
Everything works, too." He went over to the sink and 
started pumping water. "From a well. No chlorine." The 
flowing water looked somehow clearer for him having 
said it.

He walked over to the large wooden ice box and lifted 
the top.  "Fresh ice, delivered every other day." He 
pulled out two bottles of beer and put them on the 
table where I sat. From inside the bottom section of 
the box, he brought out a partially picked carcass of a 
chicken and a strange looking mold of butter.

"Now, some bread," he said, reaching into a tin bread 
box. He took out a partial loaf of what was undoubtedly 
home made. "Made with unbleached flour," he said. He 
brought two mugs and an opener and sat down. "Now we 
eat."

He opened the beers and poured their contents into the 
mugs.  Quaffing a healthy draught, he urged me to do 
the same. The beer was foamy and cold but tasted good. 
I had been thirsty, and it was hitting the spot. I 
drank greedily.

I watched the pudgy fingers tearing at the chicken. He 
ate with much enjoyment in what he was doing. A real 
gourmand, I thought. He kept urging me to dig in along 
with him. I sliced off a piece of bread. Cutting it in 
two, I made a half sandwich with the chicken and 
butter.

He seemed pleased and got up to fish out two more beers 
from the ice box. "This is excellent beer, don't you 
agree?" he asked.

"Yes. It is good," I said, drinking some more.

"A friend of mine brings it to me from Czechoslovakia. 
Twelve per cent," he asserted. He stopped eating for a 
moment and looked at me. "As you can see, I like good 
food," he remarked. "I love to eat." He said it in a 
way that made me cross my legs instinctively.

I was beginning to feel a little woozy from the beer. 
As he ate, he appeared to be drinking in more and more 
of me. He gazed at my breasts for a long time, and I 
could feel the nipples tightening under my bra.

"Shall we see what the others are doing?" I suggested, 
rising from my chair.

"Oh, no!" he stated abruptly. He got up fast and took 
my arm.  "I mean let's stay a moment more." He wiped 
some butter from his chin. "Surely there is time. 
Please. Sit down," he urged.

"I really think I should be checking on my sister," I 
said. He was somehow too insistent. I wasn't quite sure 
what he had in mind, although I was certain he would 
make a pass.

Standing up quickly as I had done had made me quite 
dizzy.

"Then one favor before you go. My Victorian room. You 
must see my Victorian room. I have a room in my house, 
Miss Starr, which is an authentic reproduction of the 
most opulent interior in all London during the 
eighties." He took my arm again.

Perhaps it wouldn't do any harm to humor him, I 
thought, He was obsessed with such. things as 
furnishings to the point where his sex drive might have 
been completely sublimated. I felt fairly confident I 
could handle his passes when and if they came. "Oh, 
very well," I said rather reluctantly. "For just a 
minute."

I followed him through the house to the main hall. A 
carpeted staircase went straight up to the second 
floor. He went over to a set of double doors near the 
bottom of the stairs and motioned me over close to him.

"Real double pocket doors," he , said. "Notice the 
brass fittings." He opened both doors simultaneously, 
sliding them about a foot to each side. "After you, 
Miss Starr," he said, motioning at me to go on in.

I entered a very plushly furnished room. Red velvet 
drapes hung from polished brass rods across the 
windows. On the floor was a brilliant Persian rug. A 
large carved wooden bed occupied the center, and over 
it stretched a brocaded canopy. It was lovely. I heard 
the doors close behind me.

"Why this is a bedroom," I said, surprised but 
nonetheless affected by the surroundings.

"Yes," Cunningham said. He sighed and walked over to a 
closet.  "Here," he said, handing me what looked like a 
silk nightgown. "Put this on."

"What!" I cried.

"Put it on. Please," he emphasized.

I turned and walked over to the door; "Unlock these 
doors," I demanded. "Mr. Cunningham, I want you to 
unlock these doors immediately."

"You might as well do as I ask," he said calmly. "I'm 
not going to hurt you, you know."

"I know what you want to do," I told him.

"Do you?" he asked, suggesting that perhaps I had been 
mistaken.

I turned toward him, folding my arms across my chest. 
"Well, suppose you tell me just what it is that you 
want to do."

"I want to eat your pussy."

My arms dropped suddenly and I gaped forward at him. I 
could feel an imaginary hand clutching at my vulva. The 
fat little son of a bitch was actually making me hot.

He was wetting his lips. "I haven't eaten any in so 
long, I can taste it," he said, holding out the 
nightgown again.

If that was all he wanted, maybe it wouldn't be so bad, 
I concluded. The thought of the pudgy little man's body 
lying on top of me was another matter entirely. I don't 
know what made me do it, the beer or the room or 
watching Hack Raver that morning, but I reached out and 
took the gown.

My next thought was where to get undressed. Was he 
going to stand there and watch me, I wondered?

He walked over to the same closet and began undressing 
himself, facing the inside of the closet. Something 
about his matter of fact way of taking his clothes off 
set me wild.

I took my loafers off with my feet, unhooked my skirt 
and zipped it down. It fell and I stepped out of it. I 
noticed he hadn't turned around. He had taken his pants 
off and was carefully hanging them up.

Unbuttoning my blouse, I removed it and went to work on 
the bra, turning my back on him in the process. The bra 
off, I noticed the nipples and surrounding area had 
turned rock hard, I rubbed hard at them in an effort to 
relax them, but the rubbing only seemed to make them 
worse.

Glancing over my shoulder, I saw he was entirely naked. 
He must have been wearing something before to hold in 
his stomach for now the belly on him seemed enormous. 
He was reaching for a robe.

I got out of my panties as fast as I could and I 
noticed they were wet down there. Some of it had dried 
already. Pulling the gown down over me, I got up on the 
bed and hid my eyes with my forearm, waiting for 
whatever was going to happen.

I could hear him moving softly around the room, and 
thought I heard the lid to a jar being screwed off. The 
suspense was getting to me, and I had to reach down and 
touch myself.

His weight on the bed made it creak. He moved my legs a 
little farther apart as he shifted himself into 
position.

"This is going to feel cool at first," he said. 
Instinctively I removed my arm and look down. He held a 
jar of cream or something in one hand, and with the 
other was evidently preparing to gunk me up with 
whatever it was.

He slapped the stuff on gently and began working it in. 
It was cold at first application, but slowly began to 
heat up until the whole area there glowed. It had a 
faint fruity odor.

Suddenly, he grabbed me by both hips, and I felt his 
mouth close over me violently. His head was nodding 
like a nanny goat as he ran his lips and tongue up and 
down the gash. He was salivating like crazy, and I 
thought it was going to be more than I could stand.

I began to shriek and grabbed at his hair, thinking I 
was actually going to pull some of it out. I tried to 
roll over on each side and close my legs, but he was 
too strong.

He had managed to work my clitoris out and was sucking 
on it, pushing his face back and forth into the rest of 
it. I was screaming now and dug my heels into his 
waist, kicking at him for all I was worth.

Changing tactics again, he shoved his tongue into my 
vagina and began a vigorous in-and-out thrusting, his 
nose pushing at my clitoris. He had extremely well-
developed tongue muscles.

Feeling myself reaching an orgasm, I knew it was going 
to be a shattering one. I was clutching his head 
tightly now, my heels braced against his hips. My back 
began to arch involuntarily as my body tensed. My mouth 
gaped wide, and I lost the power to focus my eyes.

It came with a rush.

Great undulating waves of warmth flowed through me. 
One, two, three, four...five...six. The intervals 
lengthened. If the feeling would only persist 
indefinitely. I ran my fingers through his hair.

He was sucking now, sucking deep draughts, long and 
slow.  There wasn't going to be anything left of me, I 
thought. When he was done, he lay his head on my thigh 
and gasped for each breath, his face a raw-looking red.

As the hot blood began to flow back into my vulva it 
tingled.  I wondered what he was going to do. If he had 
wanted intercourse, I would have let him do it. It 
didn't matter now. Not many men had ever brought me to 
such a climax.

He sat up quietly. "I want you to know I loved your 
cunt," he said, still breathing hard. He put a hand on 
my leg. "I want you to come back. Please. Will you 
promise to come back sometime? And your sister. I'll 
eat you both. Anytime you feel you're ready for Joe 
Cunningham."

I told him I would be happy to return. The pudgy man 
looked almost pathetic standing there in the robe. I 
asked him if he didn't like it the regular way.

"My only scene," he said, shaking his head. "My only 
scene is eating pussy. I was kicked by a horse years 
ago and it left me impotent. There's not much else I 
can do."

"How did the horse kick you?" I asked him.

"Next time you visit perhaps I'll tell you," he said. 
"Don't tell many people that story." He bent over the 
bed and kissed me lightly on the vulva. "I'll leave you 
now. Hope you like the pony." He opened the doors and 
went out.

I dressed quickly. Helen was waiting for me at the car 
with Hack Raver.

"You look happy," she commented. "Want to tell me about 
it?"

I glanced at Hack and blushed. "Later, Sis."

We got into the car. Helen gave the pony a pat and 
waved at Hack. "So long Texas," she called out.

"You ladies know I'm always at your service." He was 
grinning widely and fingering at his groin.

On the way home we chatted very little. Helen was 
obviously happy with her adventure. I was pleased as 
well. The old sadness that sometimes lurked in the 
background seemed far away.

We pulled into the drive and walked up to the door.

"That's funny," Helen said. "I don't hear Clyde."

"Maybe he's asleep," I suggested.

She unlocked the door and went inside. I watched her go 
from room to room, even checking the basement. It 
didn't seem possible he could have gotten out. She gave 
up and slowly walked back into the living room. I was 
afraid she was going to cry.

"He's gone, Bea. Clyde's gone." She shook her head 
slowly from side to side. "Where?"


Chapter 3


It was in the middle of the day. I was seated at a 
vanity in Helen's bedroom brushing my hair. I hadn't 
had a good chance to brush it out since arriving, and 
the brisk strokes tugging at my scalp felt good.

My hair was longer than it had been in years, the thick 
brown tresses reaching down to just below my shoulder 
blades. It seemed like an awful lot of hair as I 
watched it move with my head in the mirror. I picked 
the mass up with both hands and held it atop my head 
for an instant.

The tap-tap-tap of the hooves on the kitchen floor 
downstairs interrupted my thoughts. The pony had made 
himself quite at home.  So far there had been no 
"accidents," but the novelty of having a horse-like 
creature roaming at will throughout the house was 
something I had not yet gotten used to.

Helen was still upset about Clyde. We still hadn't 
figured out how he had gotten out of the house. He was 
adept at pushing doors open that were not quite tightly 
shut, but all of the doors leading to the outside were 
found locked when Helen checked them.

Because of the air conditioning, all the windows were 
closed, but one basement window we had found unlocked 
and very easy to push outward. The window-was a good 
six feet from the floor, however, and it seemed 
doubtful that Clyde could have both scaled the wall and 
pushed open the window. Still, he was gone.

Helen had reported him missing to the police shortly 
after we had arrived home, and all morning had been on 
the telephone checking with the pounds in the 
metropolitan area. She had also alerted local kennels 
and pet shops to be on the lookout in case the person 
taking Clyde tried to sell him.

She was being very thorough. I had heard her calling in 
ads to the Lost and Found sections of newspapers, and 
talking to medical school people on the hunch they were 
buying animals for student dissection.

"It's not going to be easy to hide a tricolored collie.  
They're the rare ones," she had pointed out to me. 
"Well, maybe not as rare as the Morrells," the thought 
occurred to her, "but certainly not an everyday breed." 
She had been moved to tears periodically. "Where can he 
be?" she had kept asking me.

Her grief over Clyde had kept her from paying much 
attention to the pony. The tan and white creature had 
taken to her almost immediately and frequently walked 
up to where she might be sitting, softly nuzzling her.

On top of everything else, Jack arrived home later in 
the evening. I thought he was going to croak when he 
laid eyes on the pony. He went quickly from a kind of 
shocked expression to a livid fury which he managed to 
keep under control but just barely.

Helen, of course, didn't waste any time telling him 
about Clyde's disappearance. Jack did his best to 
reassure her that everything was going to turn out all 
right, but seemed too stunned by the pony's presence to 
gather his wits about him enough to be of any material 
help.

"Whose idea is this anyway?" he had almost demanded, 
casting an eye in my direction. Because I had not yet 
married, he was prone to suspect me of the darkest 
sexual adventures, and once had told Helen that I was 
probably a lesbian. He was a very insecure man.

He had insisted Helen keep the pony in the garage while 
he was home. He calmed down considerably finally when 
Helen told him the pony would only be there a few days, 
but kept at her occasionally about the exact time of 
departure.

After he had left for work earlier in the morning, 
Helen told me he had wanted intercourse with her the 
night before, but that she had begged off because she 
was so worried about Clyde. He had gotten angry and 
said things about Clyde he had never said before, 
strange things.

"Do you suppose he knows that Clyde and I have been 
lovers?" she had asked me.

I had blushed at the thought. It had seemed like such a 
blunt way of putting it. "Only you can know that, 
Helen," I had answered.

"I've been very, very careful," she had said. "Why, I 
think I'd be mortified if Jack found out. He'd be so 
upset."

I had thought he would be more upset if he knew of some 
of her other escapades, such as the hay episode with 
Cunningham's foreman.

"Jack would not be one to keep something like that to 
himself, I think," I had said. "You would hear about it 
pretty fast."

"He's been suspecting something," she had told me 
again. "I just haven't been as frustrated when he fails 
to satisfy me completely, not like I used to be."

I decided to put my hair into a loose ponytail, and 
looked around the vanity for a barrette, Helen had 
several including a wide tortoiseshell type which I 
chose. A light itch behind my ear reminded me that it 
would be a good idea to wash my hair. Perhaps tonight, 
I thought.

Standing up, I removed my robe and caught my reflection 
in the mirror. I was a body without a head as the 
vanity was just low enough to cut the reflection off. 
The hair on my bottom was a thick mat, and I ran a comb 
through it, ratting it up as much as it would go.

All fluffed out, my pussy suddenly seemed larger than 
life. I turned sideways and looked at my reflection. 
The hair made quite a bulge. Patting the crest of the 
bush lightly with my hand, the thought occurred to me I 
really had too much hair there, and I wondered how many 
men might be bothered by it.

I had just put the robe back on when a squeal from 
Helen downstairs attracted my attention.

"Bea!" she called out, "come down and see this!"

I went down the stairs and turned, thinking she was in 
the kitchen.

"In here!" The voice came from the living room.

I changed my direction and walked into the room. Helen 
was kneeling on the floor alongside the pony. I could 
see immediately that the animal was in an erect state. 
In fact, it was still growing.

"Oohh," she piped. "It just keeps on coming out!"

It was true. The organ kept extending outward and 
slightly down. Less embarrassed than I had been about 
looking at it in the barn, I knelt down on the other 
side of the pony and watched, fascinated, as the skin 
on the protuberance grew tauter.

I could not resist touching it and reached for the 
shaft.  Helen had the same impulse for our fingers 
clasped it about the same time. We both gave a little 
squeeze.

"It's so soft," Helen marveled, "yet solid!"

It felt warm to my fingers, and I let them run down to 
the fat head at the end. It resembled a big brown apple 
except that inside the depression where the stem would 
normally be was an open hole about the size of a pea. 
Inside the hole the lining was a fresh pink.

The pony was blowing softly and turned to nuzzle me on 
the ear. He didn't seem to mind that we were so curious 
about his huge part. His thing was easily thirteen or 
fourteen inches long.

"I wonder if we could get it to come," Helen mused.

"You mean, jerk it off?" I asked.

"Do you think he would stand for it?" she asked me, in 
turn.

"How would you do it?" I wanted to know. "I mean, 
without him kicking you?"

She had begun jacking at the penis with her closed 
fingers, but her tiny hand seemed inadequate, scarcely 
reaching around. "I don't know if he likes that or 
not," she said. She stopped and shifted her position. 
The pony neighed deep in his throat.

"See," I said, smiling. "He doesn't-want you to stop."

"It's hard to do because of the angle," she revealed, 
and rolled onto her back, reaching up to continue 
stimulating the animal.

I watched as she worked. The pony was showing no signs 
of losing the erection, but didn't seem particularly 
excited, either, as I would have imagined him to be 
when sexually aroused. He seemed to be tolerating it 
more than enjoying it.

"Oh!" Helen exhaled, "all the blood ran out of my arm 
and it aches. This is hard work!"

She stood up, rubbing her arm and looking at the thing. 
I could tell what she was thinking. Here is this 
magnificent thing.  How can we keep it from going to 
waste?

"I wonder, she mused. "I wonder if that would go in. 
What do you think, Bea?"

Oddly, my curiosity had taken me over completely. 
Whereas the thought of Helen with Clyde had embarrassed 
me, the thought of her with the pony quickly aroused 
me. Clyde seemed so human. The pony was more 
impersonal.

I knew, though, that it was the immense thing he was 
carrying that outweighed all other considerations. 
There is nothing like the sight of meat to thoroughly 
distract a woman.

"Go on!" I urged, blushing in spite of myself. "Live 
dangerously!"

"How do you go about it?" she wanted to know. My 
blushing was making her blush, and we talked without 
looking at each others' eyes.

"Try it like with Clyde," I suggested.

"You mean, get down on all fours?" She stood thinking 
for a moment. "Okay," she said quickly, unbuttoning her 
skirt on the side. "That damn thing's got me so hot, 
I'll stand on my head if I have to."

Unzipping her skirt, she stepped out of it and quickly 
pulled down her panties. Getting down on her hands and 
knees, she backed up slowly at the pony. She was 
telling the truth about being hot.  The lips on her 
bottom were glistening wet.

There was a burning lump in my throat that started to 
throb.  The strangest notion came over me that I would 
like to be that pony right then, about to be doing 
whatever it was that was going to be done to Helen. The 
feeling must have been based on a sheer desire to want 
to participate, nothing else.

Helen had moved close to the pony. He nodded his head 
at her exposed rear, and I noticed his nostrils flare 
slightly as he nosed at her open pussy. He muffled at 
it, and I saw the tongue flick for an instant.

"Yi!" she exploded. "What a feeling!" I stroked my 
juicy twat harder. "Anything doing?" she asked.

"He's not exactly hell bent for leather," I said. "Do 
you suppose you have to be in heat?" I asked her.

"Sis, I'm in heat thirty days a month," she informed 
me.

"You know what Cunningham said," I reminded her.

She got up and rubbed at herself. "Damnation! There 
must be a way." She walked around the animal, banging 
her fist into the palm of her hand.

Something someone had told me once about Catherine the 
Great of Russia came to mind. "How about like a 
hammock, underneath?" I suggested.

"You mean like a sling?"

I nodded. In a fit, I disrobed and got underneath the 
animal, placing my arms around his neck. The space 
between his front legs wasn't too wide, and I had to 
force them apart. His big thing poked at my belly. I 
looked up at Helen. "Like this."

"Well," she said, "go ahead. Iıll be glad to wait my 
turn."

I felt a thrill run through my body. Why not, I 
thought. Moving up further on the animal, I felt the 
heavy weight of the end of his penis move slowly down 
my belly as I inched forward. When it reached the crest 
of the mound, I stopped.

"Can you lift my legs over his back?" I asked Helen.

She grabbed hold of first one and then the other, 
holding them until I had a chance to lock the feet 
together. In making the adjustment, however, I lost 
contact with the head of his organ. The big apple 
bounced on the top of my pussy, came to rest 
momentarily on a good spot, where it tamped briefly, 
then fell off down below my ass.

"Point it, point it!" I nearly shrieked at Helen.

"Jeepers!" she gushed. In a second she was down on the 
floor, grabbing hold of the fat thing. She had to bring 
it up almost parallel with his belly to get it into 
position. "Is that good?"

"Down a little more. No! Too much. That's it. Hold it 
there, right there." I was beginning to breathe faster. 
"Work it in a little. Oh, gosh!"

I could feel the enormous head beginning to slip 
inward. The pony was evidently not going to do anything 
but stand there, so I had complete control. Almost by 
definition, though, the thing seemed to be entering me. 
The opening began to stretch.

"Oh, oh! Sis! Oh, oh! Oh wow!!"

With a rush, the head cleared the opening and plunged 
softly into me. I was conscious of an enormous filling. 
The feeling continued for some time.

"Oh sis," I drooled, "it's wonderful. How much is in? 
Can you see?" My breathing was short. I was wishing the 
animal would start pumping or something. The pleasure 
seemed long and drawn-out with no movement.

Helen was rubbing her fingers into herself vigorously. 
"About half of it, I guess," she said.

I moved forward more actively than before and was aware 
of it packing in slowly, deeper and deeper. After about 
a minute I was stuffed almost beyond endurance.

"Is it all in now?" I asked, breathlessly.

"There's still a lot out, Sis," she said 
apologetically.

My face must have shown my disappointment.

"Bea, you can't expect... I mean, there's an awful lot 
there."

Try as hard as I might have wanted to, I could not 
force any more inside, and gave up trying. I began to 
contract the muscles in my thighs in an effort to 
initiate some movement back and forth. I was packed 
full, and it was lovely, but I wanted things to go all 
the way.

My biceps just were not that strong and I soon tired. 
Helen saw my predicament.

"I have an idea," she said. Running into the kitchen, 
she soon returned with a fly swatter. "Hold on!" she 
commanded.

She began swatting the rear end of the pony, yelling at 
him to giddyap. The effect on the beast was electric. 
He took off around the living room at a trot, and at 
last I began to feel some movement inside me. It wasn't 
much but it was having an effect.

He kept following the same path until one turn around 
the sofa cut a little sharp. He ran up onto it with his 
front hooves practically sitting me down on it. I held 
on and he began to make thrusts at me. He had finally 
been aroused.

"Hooray!" Helen yelled. "Ride 'em, cowboy!"

It was much rougher than I had been prepared to take. 
The latent strength in the animal, finally mobilized to 
action, was incredible. Some instinct at work in him 
was driving him to sink the last full measure of his 
phallus inside me. I began howling from the mixture of 
pleasure and pain.

"Helen," I gasped, "I don't know if I can take it!"

My sister just stood there transfixed by the spectacle, 
as the animal drove still deeper. He was sweating 
profusely, the horsey, leathery smell overpowering me. 
What's it going to be like when this animal comes? I 
wondered.

As exhausted and jammed up with meat as I felt, a warm 
feeling began to grow inside me. As it increased, the 
pain of being stretched to unbearable limits subsided. 
I was embarrassed to come in front of my sister and 
squeezed my eyes shut.

"Helen, I'm going to have an orgasm. Don't took," I 
managed to blurt out.

The pony was blowing hard through his nostrils. I felt 
him drive particularly hard on one thrust. The hot come 
suddenly spurted out and around the sides of his organ, 
for my vagina could not contain it all. I could hear 
the drops hitting the floor and landing gosh knows 
where. I heard Helen shriek.

My climax came over me, then. It seemed to me I was 
going to become part of the sofa, sinking deeper and 
deeper into the cushions. In the dim recesses of my 
brain while sinking, I felt the pony withdraw. The 
sudden loss of all that power within me left a great 
void, as though I had just given birth to the Empire 
State Building.

The next thing I was aware of was Helen standing over 
me. She was talking to me, but the words didn't 
register.

"What?" I managed to say drowsily.

"I said I could drive a truck through there. Look at 
you!" She was pointing to my bottom. I must have been 
in a beautiful position for someone to walk in on us, 
then. Flat on my back with my head buried in the 
cushions, my feet on the floor, and my knees spread and 
pointing in the air.

I managed to sit up after a fashion. I felt sore as 
blazes.  Looking down at myself, I saw that I had been 
reamed out to the point where I was afraid things would 
never close up again.

Struggling to my feet, I took the robe from Helen and 
headed for the stairs. "I'm going to soak in a hot tub 
for the next hour," I moaned. "At least an hour. Do not 
disturb!"

Helen was laughing. "That was supposed to be mine, you 
lucky girl."

I turned on the stairs. "By all means, be my guest," I 
said, extending my hand in a magnanimous gesture. "By 
the way, whereıs the family stud?"

"In the garage, happily munching grain," she announced, 
"and does he have an appetite!" She seemed pleased that 
I had done something at long last to overcome what she 
regarded as prudery, or perhaps excess modesty.

The hot bath felt good. I was still sore and quite 
open. I couldn't help wondering if I was ever going to 
be able to enjoy an average-size penis again. I wasn't 
torn. Just stretched. Hadn't it always shrunk back to 
normal limits? Why should this be any different? I had 
to admit it was an extreme case.

Helen was on the telephone when I came downstairs. She 
was talking to someone about Clyde. From the gist of 
the conversation, it must have been the owner of a 
kennel. They were talking about registration papers and 
the fact that without AKC registration, the dog could 
not be sold at a high price.

I had an appointment that evening to visit a Mr. Ben 
Cameron in Highland Park, the next town over from 
Irving. Cunningham had given me the man's name and 
telephone number as the owner of a pony. I had called 
Cameron, and he had seemed happy to have me come over 
and take some pictures.

Helen had begged off accompanying me. She had to stay 
by the telephone, she had said, in case some news about 
Clyde developed.

She completed her call and came over to the sofa where 
I sat.  "Would you believe the mess?" she asked, 
pointing to the spot on the floor. She sat down and 
stared at it blankly. "I can tell Jack I spilled a 
drink. What say we have one?" she suggested.

I opted for a beer, and she got up to go to the 
kitchen. While she was getting the drinks the doorbell 
rang. I rose to see who it was. It turned out to be the 
paper boy making a weekly collection.

"Look in one of Jack's coat pockets in the closet," 
Helen called from the kitchen.

I fished through several suit coats and jackets. 
Feeling what I thought was a loose dollar, I pulled out 
only to find I had a plain white slip of paper with a 
telephone number written on it in pencil. The number 
looked vaguely familiar. I stuffed it back into the 
pocket.

Helen had to come to the rescue with some change from a 
kitchen drawer. We sat down then and quietly drank. I 
had to sit with my feet up on the end of the couch. 
Helen chuckled at my aches and pains.

After dinner it was still bothering me as I drove over 
to Highland Park. We had sat very quietly during 
dinner. Jack had been in a much better mood than the 
night before and had valiantly tried to cheer Helen up. 
She was too worried about him finding the spot on the 
carpet and complaining about the pony, to be at ease.

I was glad in a way to get out of the house. Cameron, 
as I soon found out, lived in a house not unlike Jack 
and Helen's. The neighborhood was a more expensive-
looking one, larger lots, some nicer homes, but the 
difference was merely a matter of degree of income, 
rather than of lifestyles.

Cameron answered the door himself. He was a gruff kind 
of a man. I judged him to be in his fifties. He 
explained to me that he was a bachelor and like all 
bachelors his small talk with young ladies was not very 
smooth.

I noticed he was wearing a kilt, and commented on it. 
He told me he was born in Scotland, but never wore them 
in the States except at home.

The pony was in the living room when we entered. It was 
standing so still it appeared to be a statue at first. 
It was a gorgeous animal, a mare, with softer features 
than the pony at Helen's. I noticed, too, the blue eyes 
Cunningham had told me about.

Cameron offered me a Scotch highball, and we sat and 
talked about the pony. He was very fond of her, he 
said. They were just like an old married couple, he 
felt. He saw me raise an eyebrow at that, and reddened.

"It's the whole truth, lass," he said, making no bones 
about it. "I won't deny it."

I wondered, though, if he had actually caught my 
meaning. He called to the pony, speaking slowly and 
affectionately. The animal trotted right over and 
licked at his ear. He asked it to lie down beside him, 
which it did without hesitation.

"You can see, my dear, she's quite fond of me, too," he 
asserted.

He explained that the Shetland Isles were off the coast 
of Scotland and that Iceland, too, was not really so 
far away, and for that reason undoubtedly the two of 
them got along so well.

I noticed a small platform in one comer of the room. It 
was about a foot high off the floor. He explained to me 
that he used it for playing the pipes. When he had 
guests he frequently performed for them on the bagpipes 
and used the platform like a stage.

When he mentioned the word "platform," the pony 
suddenly got up and trotted over to it. She stepped up 
onto it, threw up her tail, and I was able to observe 
immediately that the animal was in heat.

Cameron reacted instantly. "Dash it all, Heather," he 
said, shooting me an embarrassed look and getting up. 
"Come now, girl.  That won't do," he said to her, 
walking over and trying to coax her off. "That won't do 
at all."

"Why does she do that?" I asked, walking over to them.

Cameron thought I was asking why she kept opening and 
closing her hole. "Why, lass, she craves the dork, as 
they say." He was having difficulty being at ease. The 
pony had embarrassed him, and he didn't know how to 
handle both her and me at the same time.

"I meant, why does she mount the platform like that?

"That? Well!" He cleared his throat. "Heather wants to 
hear the pipes, don't you, girl? I'll get the pipes and 
well have a tune, we will." He walked over to a closet 
and brought out a set of bagpipes.

He stood there then, playing a quickstep and tapping 
his feet.  The pony turned around once and looked at 
him rather oddly, but otherwise continued standing in 
the same position, opening and closing her organ in the 
violent manner that is the animal's nature.

I took a picture of the pair of them just like that, 
the pony calmly listening to the sweating, huffing 
Scotsman's music. It might have seemed more natural for 
the pony to be facing the music in this case. Perhaps 
when he was through, I could rearrange the pose. I set 
the camera down and waited.

He was done shortly, and I asked him.

"Lass," he began, "She'll not be changing that 
position. Take my word for it. You may as well put it 
out of your mind." He seemed certain, and I did not 
press for the pose. He returned his bagpipes to the 
closet, and we went back to our chairs.

The remainder of our conversation was strained. Cameron 
seemed to have something on his mind and was anxious to 
conclude our interview. I felt he had probably lost 
face somehow when the pony would not heed his request 
to get off the platform. I thanked him warmly and he 
walked me to the door.

Out in the car I realized I had left my camera inside 
the house and returned to the front door. It had not 
been shut tightly and I could hear Cameron talking 
inside.

"Heather, darling," he was saying. "Did you have to do 
that, my lass? The young lassie was near to finding out 
all about the way I feel about you."

Curiosity got the better of me and I squeezed just 
inside the door. From the vestibule I could, by 
standing close to the wall, peer around into the living 
room.

The pony was standing where I had last seen her. 
Cameron was over behind her stroking her rump with his 
large hands. To my surprise he had an erection. A 
rather broad, fat, ruddy penis jutted up out of his 
kilt at a forty-five degree angle.

He kept stroking the animal's hindquarters and speaking 
to her in soothing tones. With the pony on the 
platform, he was in a good position, simply by moving 
forward and tilting his organ down about fifteen 
degrees, to copulate with it. It seemed obvious to me 
that was his intention.

I didn't have long to wait. Cameron began catching at 
his breath as he became more aroused. He dropped his 
kilt suddenly and stepped out of it. Bending his penis 
slightly downward he brought it within a fraction of an 
inch of the pony's throbbing hole.

He waited momentarily like that, apparently trying to 
time his thrust to coincide with the wide-open phase of 
the vagina's openings and closings. He rocked slightly 
in rhythm with them and then suddenly lunged forward.

The timing was apparently right. The pony's hole closed 
over Cameron's organ in an enormous grip, and held it 
tightly, pulling the man off his feet.

Cameron cried out and fell forward, clutching the pony 
about her flanks. The massive vagina seemed to undulate 
and slobber, making gurgling noises as it attempted to 
consume the somewhat inadequate organ it had captured. 
The animal neighed and kicked out at the man's legs 
convulsively.

Cameron came very quickly under such conditions. I saw 
him try to extricate himself.

It didn't seem to be an easy task, but he did pull 
away, failing back against the closet door where he 
leaned, panting, for some moments. "That's a good lass, 
that's a careful lass," he kept muttering to himself.

The pony, seeing that he had finished, stepped off the 
platform and walked over to him, nuzzling at his hand. 
In spite of the violent nature of what had just 
occurred, the relationship was returning to a tender 
phase.

Cameron patted the pony's brow. They remained there 
like that, exchanging gentle touches of one kind or 
another, and I was reminded of Cameron's statement 
about them being like an old married couple. The term 
suited them at that moment.

Finally, his arm around the pony's neck, he turned with 
her and walked back into the house somewhere. He was 
speaking to the pony again in soft tones as the tapping 
of the hooves beat a staccato accompaniment across the 
floor.

I waited until I was sure they had gotten out of 
earshot before stepping into the living room and 
retrieving my camera. Very quietly, I pulled the door 
shut and stepped out into the cool Texas evening.


Chapter 4


I slept through breakfast the next morning. Jack had 
already left for the office when Helen appeared in the 
bedroom quite excited.

"Someone's found Clyde," she announced.

I opened one eye and looked at my sister. She was 
holding a slip of paper in one hand and begging for my 
attention.

"Where?" I managed to ask.

"It's some kennel north of the city. The police picked 
him up running along the highway and brought him 
there." She was elated. "Isn't it grand? I'll be so 
glad to see him again."

I stepped out of bed and put my robe on. My sister was 
reading off the name of the kennel from the slip of 
paper.

"Are you certain it's Clyde?" I wanted to know.

"It must be," she assured me. "I just talked with the 
man who runs the place, and his description was 
uncanny. It could not be any other dog."

"I'm glad," I said, coming up to her and giving her a 
kiss on the cheek. "You're very fond of Clyde."

Her bosom heaved slightly and pushed gently against my 
own. "Quick!" she said, grabbing both my arms. "I'll 
fry you an egg while you get dressed. I want to go over 
there this morning." She turned and ran in the 
direction of the kitchen.

I stepped across the hall into the bathroom. Removing 
my robe I sat on the toilet and reached for the hand 
mirror behind me. I was curious as to my condition and 
spread my legs.

Spreading the lips with the first two fingers of my 
right hand, I moved the fingers down two or three times 
more, separating the folds as much as I could to get a 
good look inside.

The soreness seemed to have disappeared. I ran the tip 
of one finger inside. The opening seemed normal. I 
tried two, and then three fingers. It stretched easily 
but was elastic enough to offer some resistance to 
being opened.

I breathed a sigh of relief. Everything was returning 
to a state of normalcy.

Spreading my legs a little wider, I held the mirror a 
foot away from it and tried to get an idea of its 
overall appearance.  The outer lips didn't exactly 
close over everything. Well, I wasn't sixteen anymore 
either, I told myself.

The amount of hair growing around that region of me 
always struck me as excessive. Except for my head and 
under my arms I was not a hairy person, and could never 
understand why I had such growth down there.

I held the mirror closer to examine it. Hair grew 
thickly on both sides and down under. Rising slightly, 
I looked further on down and saw it growing around my 
asshole, although much more sparsely.

Sighing, I put the mirror down and stood all the way 
up. With two fingers, I gently tried to squeeze the 
outer lips shut. They mushed together nicely, but 
pouted open again immediately when I let go.

Helen was calling me that breakfast was about ready, 
and I turned to other matters.

She sat and watched me eating. Her conversation was 
very animated. I knew she was impatient to get out to 
the kennel and tried not to appear uninterested. She 
was planning a bath for Clyde the minute he got home, 
she told me.

As she knew the way, I let her drive although she 
offered the chore to me. While I listened to her talk I 
kept doing a little exercise I had been taught once 
which was supposed to strengthen the muscles around the 
opening to the vagina. It must have seemed to Helen 
that I was not paying attention.

"You're miles away, aren't you?" she was asking me.

I took notice and blushed.

"What are you thinking about, Bea?" she queried.

"I was thinking about a man having one the size of that 
pony's." Actually I had just come up with the thought 
in reply to her question.

"How would you ever find him?" Helen wondered. "Even if 
you did, he might be too hard to live with. You know? 
What kind of a husband would he make? Every girl around 
would be chasing him." She was thinking of Jack.

"I wonder though, does a man ever have one that big? Is 
it possible?"

We were passing a farm where some horses were grazing.

"Maybe you should move up to a horse," Helen suggested. 
"They're even bigger!"

The thought of something even bigger yet stuffing into 
me was a randy idea but frightening.

"Come on," I said. "I thought I was going to be 
killed." She was getting me excited talking about it 
that way. "Were you able to see? Did he finally get it 
all in?" I asked.

"I," she paused, "I think so. I couldn't believe it."

"Where did it all go?" I asked, amazed. I held up my 
hands in the manner of a fisherman. "It must have been 
this long," I said, looking at the distance between 
them. "Now, if you take that same length and lay it 
across me here," I explained, moving my hands to my 
body, "the end of it is way up here."

She shot a glance at where my hand rested. It was 
almost exactly between my breasts.

"It can't possibly go all the way up there, or can it?" 
I wanted to know.

"It stretches nice," Helen giggled.

"Let's see how you do when your turn comes," I said to 
her.

She giggled some more. We came to a crossroads, and 
Helen turned the car to the right. About two miles down 
the road we saw the sign indicating the kennel and 
turned into it. Pens were all around us filled with 
dogs of many different breeds, and the animals 
collectively made one great racket as we got out.

The noise brought a man running out of what must have 
been a private house at one time, but had been 
converted to an office and other facilities for the 
kennel.

"You the ladies for the collie?" he asked immediately. 
At our acknowledgment he motioned us to follow him, and 
we walked back along the pens to a small brick 
structure that looked of recent construction. A number 
of bricks that had not been used were still piled off 
to the left.

The man was tall, about six feet five or six inches, 
but had an enormous pot belly that hung out over his 
trouser belt. In profile the trouser belt made a 
diagonal line up to where it clung to the small of his 
back. His trousers were rather floppy, he had no ass to 
speak of, and were too long.

He yanked out a mess of keys from one pocket and looked 
through them until finding the right one.

"Here we go," he said, unlocking the door.

We followed him inside. About six stalls lined each 
side of the wall. They were very clean and seemed to 
incorporate every convenience available to the up-to-
date kennel operator.

"We keep the real good dogs here," he informed us. 
"Your collie is in this one." He pointed to one marked 
number nine.

Helen walked over and called out Clyde's name. The big 
collie came up to the gate, wagging it tail, but I knew 
instantly Helen was looking at a dog other than her 
own.

"Oh, Bea," she said, disappointed. "It isn't him."

I came over and reached through the bars, patting the 
dog's head. "You could fool

me, Sis. It's an amazing likeness," I told her.

"It's the eyes," she said, "and the coloring on the 
nose. See that pink splotch just at the beginning of 
the nose? Clyde has no pink on his nose. This isn't as 
good a dog as Clyde," she concluded.

He was a beautiful dog nonetheless.

"Too bad!" the man said. "Make a nice pet. You have 
kids?" he asked Helen and then fixing his eyes on me as 
if to ask the same question.

We shook our heads.

"Be good pet anyway," he went on. "Cops found this poor 
guy running along the interstate. Well, "he declared, 
"somebody's going to claim him. Too good a dog."

We walked outside to the car. Helen was dejected and 
had little to say. The man wished her luck, and we 
drove off.

About a mile along the road her thoughts had absorbed 
her attention a little too much, and she failed to 
notice a wide truck coming in the opposite direction.

"Yipe!" I shouted, pointing.

She reacted instantly, swerving to the right, but 
overcompensated, and the car's right side went off the 
shoulder into a deep gully.

The car was not damaged, nor were we hurt, but Helen 
could not get enough traction to move the car either 
forward or backward.

"You try it, Bea," she suggested.

We exchanged places, but I had no better luck. The 
weight of the car needed both rear wheels to drive it, 
and one wheel just spun uselessly, barely touching the 
ground.

"We'll need a tow," I said. "You  belong to the 
Automobile Club?" I asked her.

"Yes," she sighed, going through her purse. She found 
the card in her wallet and showed it to me. Something 
in her expression made me feel sorry for her. I patted 
her head.

"I'll go, Helen," I assured her. "It can't be more than 
a mile back there. You stay here."

She smiled at me. The warm smile of our childhood when 
we had just shared a candy bar, or when pushing little 
dolls around inside a doll house, our hands had 
accidentally bumped.

She leaned over and gave me a hug, and I could feel her 
heart beating through her skin.

Out on the road I was wishing I hadn't chosen to wear 
heels that day. I thought back to myself sitting in the 
bedroom that morning and making the choice. The road 
was level but at the pace I was trying to maintain, the 
walking was giving my muscles a workout.

As cars came up behind me, I tried slowing down to 
prevent too much of a bounce and swing to my butt. I 
would have welcomed a ride, but wasn't in the mood for 
offering myself as payment, even in jest.

Some cars slowed and went by. I noticed they contained 
couples, a not likely source for a hitch for someone 
like me. So many women, having once surrendered their 
names and identities to a man, are naturally insecure. 
Having an unperson then for a partner, the man will 
often seek a real individual elsewhere.

I thought of those guys as they went by. From the way 
one's face lighted up, I knew he would have offered me 
a lift if the wife had not been along. If women had 
anything approaching real freedom in the country, she 
would have been happy for him to stop.

An old black panel truck with white peace signs 
sloppily painted on it slowed down as it passed. A 
number of older teenage boys inside did some whistling 
and hooting. I waved at them good-naturedly.

It was a deserted section of the road. I could not 
recall any buildings between the kennel and where we 
had gone into the ditch.  It was a cool day, and I was 
in no danger of working up a sweat.

The black panel truck had turned around and was slowly 
coming back the other way. As it came up abreast of me, 
it came to a stop.  The driver, a young kid about 
twenty asked if I wanted a ride.

Some pleasant tone in his voice temporarily disarmed me 
and I said okay.

"I'm just going to the kennel," I said.

"Get in," he said in a matter of fact tone. "I'll turn 
around up ahead."

I walked around to the other side of the vehicle. A 
short, fat boy of seventeen or eighteen was already out 
of the truck and held the door open for me. I stepped 
up in, and the boy doing the driving told me to find a 
seat inside.

A curtain separated the body of the truck from the 
driving area, and as I stepped through, it took me a 
moment to become accustomed to the dimness inside. I 
soon noticed there were no seats. Two boys were seated 
on the floor near the rear. The floor was covered with 
blankets and sleeping bags.

The truck started up, and I sat down on one of the bags 
to keep from falling.

The boy who had been driving came through the curtain, 
and I concluded the fat boy must obviously be at the 
wheel. The boy sat down next to me.

"Peace!" he said, chewing on what must have been gum.

He had moved a little too close to me, and I grew 
apprehensive. "Whatever you say," I told him, shifting 
my position so as to let him know I didn't welcome any 
funny business.

"Know," he chewed. "A woman gets in a gig like this, I 
read she's hoping one thing." He was seated Indian-
style and leaning slightly forward, his head nodding 
slightly as his jaws worked on the gum.

"You better go back to school and learn how to read," I 
said, getting up. "When's your kid brother going to 
turn this thing around?" Looking through the curtains, 
I got a glimpse of Helen standing alongside the car as 
we drove by. I was positive she had seen me, too.

Recovering from his initial surprise, the gum-chewing 
kid stood up and, grabbing my arm, spun me around. I 
lost my balance and fell, landing hard on my bottom. He 
flung himself on top of me immediately, pressing the 
bulge in his trousers into my crotch as hard as he 
could.

"You ain't gonna act so uppity, lady, when you find out 
there's real cock on board here," he snarled.

I pushed at him. He was actually hurting me with his 
weight and knew it. The two boys at the rear moved 
forward to watch. He wasn't about to budge, and just 
lay there. He began pressing the bulge rhythmically 
against me. I got the impression he was trying to work 
it up as it in no way felt hard.

"Real cock, lady," he said again.

I reached up with my mouth and bit him hard on the 
nose.

He rolled off, screaming and holding his nose. Coming 
back, he whacked me across the face with the back of 
his hand.

"I'll bite your tit off for that," he swore. "Hank! 
Bijou! Sit on her arms," he commanded the other two.

The two boys got on either side of me and sat with all 
their weight on the insides of my elbows. I could feel 
the circulation in my arms being cut off almost right 
away.

"We, got her good, Macho," one of them told the gum 
chewer. It was true. I couldn't do much more than move 
my shoulders.

"Now, let's see what kind of a cunt this one's got," 
the one called Macho said. He pushed my thighs aside 
violently, pulling the tendons. I cried out in pain. My 
legs had never been spread apart that wide before.

Grabbing hold of my panties, he tore them off in one 
quick yank. All three of them started to laugh at once.

"Look at that," Macho leered.

"All hair," snorted one of the others.

"Lady, you have got one hairy ass," Macho said to me. 
"Feel on it, Hank," he urged.

The kid on my left reached down and ran his fingers 
roughly into my vulva as if he were fingering gravel.

"That's enough," Macho said suddenly, irritation in his 
voice. "Now, lick 'em off," he commanded.

"Aw, Mach," Hank protested. "I ain't one to eat no 
pussy."

"That's why you got to lick 'em off," he said, smiling 
through clenched teeth. "You got to learn what these 
dumb cunts are made of."

Hank stuck the fingers in his mouth quickly, pulling 
them out almost immediately. Macho and Bijou roared and 
kept up the teasing.  I shut my eyes hard.

"You know, Beej," Macho declared, "I've heard it said, 
a man who will eat cunt will eat cock, too."

"I've heard that, yeah, yeah," said Bijou, agreeing.

Hank tried to change the subject. "You gonna fuck her?" 
he asked, nodding in my direction.

"Maybe she's gonna eat a little cock first, then we'll 
talk about ass," Macho answered. He unhooked his belt 
buckle with one hand. Sucking in his stomach, he 
reached down with both hands and slowly unbuttoned his 
fly. Standing straight on his knees, he pushed his 
levi's and undershorts down below his groin.

The meat flopped out. He had no erection, but the penis 
appeared to have the potential of being quite large 
when hard. The testicles clung close to the base and 
had very long hairs growing out from the sac that 
contained them. There were not too many of them, but 
they were quite long.

The skin covering his penis grew down over the head, 
encapsulating it. I took this to mean that he was 
uncircumcised though I had never seen one like it 
before. I stiffened.

"How 'bout it, lady?" Macho urged, taking the penis in 
his hand and lolling it at me. "Getting' hungry?" he 
grinned. "You want to be fucked, you're gonna have to 
work on it a little," he informed me, moving it closer.

"I'll bite it off, so help me," I seethed out at him 
through clenched teeth. Probably remembering his nose 
he changed expression as if he were convinced I meant 
it. He backed away. I felt I had won some kind of a 
victory.

"She don't eat, Mach," Hank said.

"Shit she don't eat!" Macho exclaimed. "They all eat. 
There ain't a woman around don't want it. What do you 
think makes the dumb cunts so dumb? It's cock, man, 
cock," he bellowed.

Spitting into my vulva suddenly, he rubbed the spittle 
into the lips with his fingers. Leaning forward, he 
tried to run the spongy organ into my vagina in its 
flaccid state. The exercises I had been doing all 
morning evidently had made it possible to thwart him. 
He got nowhere.

I was afraid his continued frustration might lead to 
further violence so I relaxed. At one point in his 
struggles then, he succeeded, by careful tamping, in 
getting the hooded tip just inside the entrance. For 
some reason he could not feel the degree of success he 
had thus achieved and allowed it to fall right out 
again.

Hank and Bijou remained breathless, apparently afraid 
to make any comment. The truck slowed down to a stop, 
and I heard the motor turn off. The fat boy appeared 
through the curtain, combing his hair and staring at 
me.

"Tony, you fuck her," Macho said, getting off me. "I 
ain't ready yet." He sat back against the wall looking 
dazedly at his penis.

Tony unbuttoned his fly and pulled out a penis that 
quickly hardened. It had a long, thin look to it. He 
broke into a smile and knelt down between my legs.

He didn't quite know where to put it, but jabbed away 
at me anyway. He poked a few places that really hurt 
and I howled. Both he and Macho interpreted my cries as 
sexual. Macho crawled back over to me.

"You like that, huh? Fuck her good, Tony. She's loving 
every minute of it. "He began to laugh softly.

Tony finally found the right spot, but got only two 
good strokes inside when I felt him come. Then, instead 
of leaving it there to pump the full load into me, he 
yanked it out. The stuff flew all over. Everybody 
backed away and I felt the pressure come off my arms. 
They, had fallen asleep.

"You some nut, Tony?" Macho yelled.

"He's crazy, Mach," Hank volunteered. "I keep tellin' 
you."

"Yeah," piped in Bijou.

"What did you take it out for?" Macho was still yelling 
at him, totally amazed. "You leave it in, dummy, 'til 
it's all dumped inside," he emphasized. "Ain't you 
never fucked?"

Macho had a lot of the come on his levi's and 
undershorts, and was daubing disgustedly at himself 
with a corner of one of the blankets.

I used my torn underpants to wipe it out of my pubic 
hair where most of it had lodged. Some of it was oozing 
out my vagina. I rolled the panties into a ball and 
stuffed them between my legs.  Getting up, I smoothed 
down my dress, adjusted my shoulder bag, and made a 
move for the curtain.

Tony was standing closest to the partition. I winked at 
the inexperienced kid as I went by. He had seemed 
sheepish and ashamed of himself during the heap of 
abuse they had piled on him, and blushed at my wink, 
turning his face from me.

"Hey, Tony, grab her," Macho yelled, getting up from 
the floor and pulling up his pants.

I dashed past Tony who for some reason sought not to 
hold me, slid across the front seat and jumped out onto 
the ground. The truck had pulled into a wooded area off 
the road. The macadam was visible about fifty yards 
away, and I struck out for it, first taking off my 
shoes.

There was shouting and sounds of a scuffle inside the 
panel truck, then the back end opened, and looking 
back, I saw three of them pile out.

They were soon right behind me and closing fast. They 
caught me about five yards from the road, but I fought 
furiously now, with a shoe in each hand, screaming my 
head off.

I heard the brakes of a truck, and just as quickly as 
they had caught me, they let me go and ran back into 
the woods. I reeled out onto the road in the direction 
of the truck. A man was getting out.  He was tall, 
slight, and fortyish.

"Am I glad to see a new face," I cried. "The last four 
were getting stale."

He came up to me and held me steady for a minute.

"I saw three. Were they kids?" he asked.

I nodded. "And consider ourselves lucky we're not 
school teachers." I was very much out of breath. I 
showed him my shoes, and he held me while I put them 
back on. "How do I look?" I asked.  "If you say like a 
gang-bang, mister, you are batting two-fifty."

He laughed in a compassionate way that appealed to me 
and told me to get in the truck. It was a small pick-
up, and I noticed he was only carrying a pair of tires 
in the truck bed.

"Snow tires," he said, noticing my curiosity.

"In Texas?"

"Mostly for mud," he smiled. "Where to?"

I explained what had happened to Helen and me, and 
described the road. He said it was about six miles from 
where we were but that he would be glad to take me. He 
put the truck in gear and drove off.

"I think some man must have invented heels," I said. I 
had turned the rearview mirror in such a way that I 
could use it for grooming. "If you only knew how hard 
it is to run in them." I was busily combing my hair. 
"All those movies when the girl runs away from some man 
in the woods. She always gets caught."

"Heels," he said.

"Heels."

"Did it ever occur to you," he began, "that maybe a 
woman might have invented them to make sure the man 
caught her."

"So what?" I said. "Either way it's a case of an equal 
human being handicapped to make another human took 
superior. It doesn't matter who did it, except if it 
was a woman as you suggest, that might mean women are 
more clever.

"I predict a long, enjoyable friendship," he said.

"Why not?" I asked. "Here's your mirror back." I turned 
it back a little, and he adjusted it to where he wanted 
it.

"By the way, don't you think you should report that 
little episode to the police?"

"And make folk heroes out of that bunch?" I blurted 
out.

"I feel a pun coming on," he chuckled.

"Exactly," I said. "I don't want to see that crew again 
in court or out of it. I'm leaving Texas in a few days, 
anyway. It's just a business trip."

"What do you do?" he asked.

"Write," I said.

"Don't tell me. Human interest stories. Our embattled 
youth, et cetera. Am I right?"

"Right!" I exclaimed. "And I want to find out first 
hand just how depraved they are on account of they're 
deprived. Actually, I work for a big tire company and 
go places where it doesn't snow looking for people who 
buy snow tires."

"It snows in Texas," he said.

"Not much, I'll bet."

"I told you they were for mud. I live off the highway 
on a winding dirt road," he told me.

"Alone?" I asked.

"When youıre not there, yes, he answered.

"You're not a hermit or something like that, are you?" 
I asked.

"Would you rather I had said I lived with my mother?" 
he wanted to know.

"Well, I know a man who lives alone, that is, not 
quite," I added. "There's a little mare pony he keeps 
around the house, and the two of them are like an old 
married couple."

"No ponies," he said. "Just me and myself."

"Interesting arrangement," I remarked. "How long has 
this been going on?"

"Oh!" he pronounced. "It was love at first sight."

"You mean, when you passed that first mirror it hit you 
all of a sudden like."

"Yes," he said, "but now you've come along and broken 
us up." He brought the truck to a stop, reached over 
and embraced me.

It was a long, low-keyed kiss that said, let's take our 
time about this. He was filled with the strength of 
unhurried passion. I hadn't been kissed like that in a 
long time and savored the moment.

We broke, and I clung to him, wanting to forget somehow 
his maleness, his hardness of body for a brief time, 
and it was easy to pretend with him. He had that rare 
quality that blurs the sexes.  Deep down inside me was 
a gnawing sadness that I was weaving fantasies again.

"Know something?" I murmured.

"What?"

"I'm not wearing any underpants." I stared ahead out 
the windshield at the roadway. He was kissing along the 
bone behind my ear, and it tickled gently.

"Know something else?" he came back. "I don't even know 
your name."

"When is a good time to find out?" I asked, moving my 
body around so that I could kneel on the seat facing 
him, my bottom on his lap. Apparently, I had lost the 
panties in the woods, and felt my hairs crinkling 
against his fly. My hands were clasped behind his neck, 
and our noses touched.

A car came up behind us and went on around.

"What does it look like we're doing?" I asked him. I 
could feel the flesh underneath me swelling upward in 
his pants.

"A little noontime smooching, maybe," he replied. 
"Please tell me your name." He asked the question 
seriously.

"It's Bea," I said, doing a little shaking action with 
my butt as if to settle more comfortably in the seat I 
had chosen. "And yours?

"John." He was becoming cramped, and grunted. "Lift up 
a minute," he begged, tapping me lightly on the hip.

I raised my rear end, and he quickly undid his belt, 
pushing his trousers and undershorts down as far as he 
could reach. His stiff penis, freed at last, swelled 
out further and stood at attention. It had a slight 
lean to the left.

I lowered my bottom again and covered his erection with 
my dress. I felt it tamping against my belly and 
reached down under the dress to bend it downward 
slightly.

The thing felt like a stiff, warm handle, and resisted 
being bent. I had to throw out my chest and jut my rear 
end upward in order to point the fat thing correctly, 
and could not relax until it had started to go in.

It went nicely. I could feel the ripple of pleasure 
running through his body, and worked my knees back 
father on the seat so that it could go all the way in.

"Oh, that's nice," he said, his breath shuddering. He 
lurched his bottom forward, and I felt the last of it 
sock up in. He began a grinding motion with his rear 
with an occasional good hard up-thrust as the moment 
suited him.

We had to stop the furious squirming frequently as cars 
passed, but as the feeling grew more intense inside me, 
I found myself little caring who or what was outside 
the truck.

It felt good getting it this way. The hard meat worked 
in and around more. It rotated and dug at the sides, 
and I was conscious of the thick base up against my 
clitoris pushing and massaging.

He was going to come before I did, and I began some 
hard grinding myself to try to catch up. He had stopped 
fooling around and was trying to make deeper thrusts, 
though it must have been difficult in that position.

The thrusts increased rapidly. He leaned forward 
suddenly, and I felt the jolts inside as he pumped out 
the hot sperm in four or five successive spasms.

A warm glow enveloped my entire body knowing his come 
had filled me. He lay back against the seat exhausted, 
his eyes closed.  I kissed his wet brow and ran the 
fingers of one hand through his hair, He was taking 
long, deep breaths.

His organ shrank slowly while still inside me. I could 
feel it retreating into itself. The warm come, shot 
straight up into me, was slowly running back down along 
the sides of his organ and covering the balls.

We sat there like that enjoying the warmth between us. 
His come was like a balm cementing our union, and I 
hesitated to move.

He was the first to break the spell.

"Let's do that again, very soon," he said, opening his 
eyes.

I lifted my dress as I moved off him, looking down to 
see how much had run out of me. I was soaking wet but 
nothing compared to what was all over his lap.

"I have some Kleenex in my bag," I said, half standing 
while reaching into it and fishing out the bunch I had 
suddenly remembered putting there that morning.

I offered about half of them to him, and used the rest 
on myself.

"Do you always travel without panties?" he asked me as 
he sopped away at the goo. It had run down underneath 
his balls, too, and he was busily wiping while holding 
his scrotum up over his belly.

"Aren't you glad?" I asked. "One less obstacle to our 
pleasure." He was looking me as if I were probably 
telling him the truth. "Silly," I said, laughing, "the 
peace freaks wanted a souvenir. It's probably flying 
proudly this second from the truck's radio antenna."

He laughed at that. "What do you write about, anyway, 
Bea?" he asked, tightening his belt.

"Pets." I said. "Stories about people and their pets."

"If I went out and bought a pet, would you write me 
up?" he wondered. He started the truck and we moved 
off.

"If it were unusual in some way," I told him. "The 
animal wouldn't have to be unusual. It could be your 
relationship with it, or an adventure it had gone 
through. If you had a pet, John, what would it be?" I 
asked him abruptly.

"A twenty-five year old brunette female, about five-
six, a hundred and twenty pounds."

I interrupted his little whimsy. "Seriously, John, what 
would you own?"

"I don't know," he said. "Give me a couple of days to 
think about it and I might have an answer." He turned 
and flashed a smile at me. "I've never thought about 
owning an animal."

We drove the rest of the way in silence. It wasn't far. 
I recognized the spot where Helen had gone off the 
road. Tracks indicated she had been pulled out already, 
and as we approached the kennel, I recognized her car 
in the parking area.

Helen came bursting out of the office when she saw me 
get out of the truck.

"Holy Smokes, Bea," she shouted. "I called the cops on 
you. What happened to that other truck?" She looked at 
John and smiled. "it doesn't look to me like you were 
in any trouble exactly."

"Wait until I tell you," I said. "You're just looking 
at the happy ending. This is John, Sis. John, this is 
my sister, Helen."

The introductions over, Helen started in about having a 
"goody" to tell me. It couldn't be any more interesting 
than the one I had for her, I said. She went back 
inside to telephone the police that I had been found, 
and I talked with John.

"If you want to heat things up, it's all right with 
me," I told him, "but it will have to be without 
strings." I explained about my job, my love of New 
York, my desire for independence.

"After you know me awhile," I went on, "you'll see that 
I value friendships highly. I'm independent," I said, 
"but I need people, also. Even men."

"An independent women can't hope to be any man's pet," 
he said. "I'll take what I get. What do I have to lose? 
"

"Why, you lose me, John," I said. 

"On your terms I never really have you in the first 
place," he came back.

"Materially, no!" I exclaimed. "But why is material 
possession the only way to think about your 
relationship with a woman. Are we really just property? 
A man's daughter leaves home, he doesn't have her 
materially and, yet he still has her in other ways, 
still loves her, and she him."

"A man wants to feel he's important to a woman," he 
stated.

"You don't think the father is important to the 
daughter?" I asked.

"It's a special relationship of diminishing importance 
in his everyday life. Anyway, Bea, you're comparing 
apples to oranges," he said. "Granted, the pair bond 
between a man and a woman should not be an owner-
possession thing, I don't think you can compare a 
daughter to a wife."

"I guess what I was trying to say was that you speak of 
your daughter as yours all of your life, whether she's 
there at home with you or not, or whether she's had ten 
husbands in Timbuktu, she's still yours, your 
daughter." I insisted.

"Go on," he said, calmly.

"Why then, the moment a woman ceases to act as if she 
were an indentured servant, or what is the term, having 
left my bed and board, does she cease to be your wife? 
You've had a more intense relationship with her than 
you've had with any other woman, yet you'll put up with 
less."

"It must be," he said, "that people have a low regard 
for the objects that have satisfied their sexual 
appetites, and a high one for those who have not. If we 
all could fuck our mothers and our daughters, our 
sisters and our aunts, we might see a little more 
clearly."

Helen interrupted our discussion by her return. "They 
want to talk to you, Bea," she said.

I stepped into the office. There was no one inside, but 
I noticed the telephone off the hook and picked it up. 
Since Helen had brought them into it, I decided to tell 
the police the entire story. I told them I would not 
sign a complaint. I was in Texas only a few days, I 
said, and didn't want to stay.

They settled for a description of the truck, and the 
names of the boys involved. They would pick them up for 
questioning, and perhaps put a scare into them.

Just as I was hanging up, the tall, pot-bellied man who 
ran the place came into the room from a rear doorway.

"Glad to see you back, miss," he said. "Your sister was 
plumb worried about you." He fumbled in a shirt pocket 
for a cigarette.  "Did she mention my cheetah?"

"You have a cheetah?" I asked him.

"Most beautiful cat in the world," he asserted, 
lighting the weed, and blowing out the match with his 
first puff.

"I promise to ask her," I said, turning to go. He was 
leaning on the counter with both hands. The sleeves of 
his shirt were rolled up past his elbows, and I noticed 
the arms were quite hairy.

"You all come back, now," he waved. He had a look about 
him, the kind of an expression on his face I used to 
think belonged only to old torn cats.

Helen was suggesting the four of us, Jack, herself, 
John, and I, get together that evening. She suggested 
her place, but John came in with a good pitch for his 
place in the woods.

As I rejoined them I said we might have to wear hip 
boots. John laughed.

"I told your sister I lived on a muddy road," he said 
to Helen, "but it's actually quite dry at the moment."

"Well," said Helen, "let's hope it doesn't rain then. 
His place all right with you, Bea?" she asked.

"Well, those aren't exactly the conditions I had 
anticipated," I put forward. "John told me he lived 
alone."

"I see," said Helen, catching my meaning. She looked 
from one of us to the other, savoring the thoughts she 
must have been thinking.

"But let's see what develops," I continued, smiling up 
at John. "Well have to postpone our debate," I said to 
him.

We parted then. As we were driving off, John pulled the 
pickup alongside my window. He was holding something 
tightly in his fist and extending it outward.

"Present for you," he said. "Compliments of John 
Young."

I reached up and took it. It was my torn underpants. I 
looked at him in complete surprise. "How did you?"

"Wedged down between the door and the seat," he said. 
"See you later," he waved, and drove off.

I held the torn, stained reminder of the morning's 
adventure up for Helen to see.

"Come to think of it, Sis," she observed, "I'd like to 
hear your story first."


Chapter 5


I was in the bathtub soaking, telling Helen of my 
narrow escape that morning. I had filled the tub full 
and was able to submerge all of me, except for my head. 
The water was good and hot.

Helen was sitting on the toilet seat in her robe 
listening intently, her feet propped up on the edge of 
the tub. I could see everything she owned in that 
position, and what I saw was deliciously pleasing.

Remembering the comments made about my hairiness that 
day, I wondered what, if any, remarks would have been 
said had it been Helen there instead of me. Certainly 
no man in his right mind could fault that pussy.

Her hair was much lighter than mine and formed a 
perfect triangle. Whereas mine tended to grow wild, 
hers almost seemed sculpted, the margins clear, the 
hairline well defined. The hair itself glowed in 
contrast to my own, which could look dull, lacking the 
magical highlights I observed now in Helen's.

Her well-developed lips formed a perfect cleft. No open 
gash here, no flabby distended labia. Just Helen's fat 
little pussy for all the world to see. I wondered how 
much Jack appreciated that darling cunny.

Helen observed my rapture and, noticing the source of 
it, closed her legs and tucked in her robe.

"You can make a girl horny sometimes, Bea," she noted. 
"There are times when I think you appreciate me that 
way more than Jack.  He's never one to drink me in with 
his eyes like that."

I lifted a leg up out of the water. "I wish I had it 
all together like you," I told her.

"Bea Starr, you're still fourteen years old wishing you 
were seventeen, aren't you?" she maintained. She got up 
off the seat.  "Here, let me scrub Your back."

I sat up, swirling the water around me. My back was 
piping hot.

"I better take my robe off," Helen said, "or it'll get 
wet for sure." The robe dropped and she stood there, 
naked, as close to me as ever I could remember. 
Uncontrollably, my hand reached up and lightly touched 
the top of her thigh. The wet fingers trailed off down 
and back into the tub.

She bent over and started scrubbing my back with a 
soapy washcloth. Her large breasts swung in unison with 
her movements. I turned my head to get closer to them, 
and one slapped against my face, the hard nipple 
tracing a line across my upper lip.  Indescribable 
urges were tormenting me.

"Hey!" I cried. "That's heavy cargo."

She laughed. She was rinsing the back now, lifting the 
water up with both hands and letting it stream down 
from my neck. Running her flat hand back and forth 
across, she seemed satisfied no more soap remained. 
"There!" she said, straightening.

I rose from the water and stood there as she handed me 
a towel. She had put her robe back on, and as I stepped 
out of the tub, she went out the door. I dried myself 
off quickly and got into my own robe.

Helen was seated at the vanity when I entered the 
bedroom.

"Let's hear your story, sweets," I urged, flopping on 
the bed. "I'll bet it has something to do with a 
cheetah, am I right?"

"Did Telford tell you?" she asked, slightly surprised.

"The guy at the kennel is Telford?" At her nod, I went 
on. "Only that he owned one and to ask you about it. He 
looks like a guy that would own a big cat. What 
happened after I left?"

"After you left I got out of the car and stood, leaning 
up against it. It makes me nervous to just sit in a 
parked car alone.  I watched the cars go by, and saw 
the black panel truck, too. Some kid was driving. He 
slowed down and mentally undressed me as he went by.

"I remember thinking, these guys will be back to give 
me a hard time. To my surprise when they did, there 
were you in the middle looking out at me. I couldn't 
understand why you hadn't stopped to explain what was 
going on.

"My next thought was that you hadn't stopped because 
they had kidnapped you, horrible as that sounded. I 
started hiking then back to the kennel as fast as I 
could. It must have taken me ten or fifteen minutes. 
When I burst into the office I really startled Telford. 
I was so out of breath I couldn't make much sense, my 
words were mostly gasps, I guess.

"Telford finally got the gist of my story and told me 
to wait and see, that you had probably picked up a ride 
to the AAA station.  Just in case, I thought I had 
better call them anyway. If you did show up, they would 
simply tell you I had already called and told you to 
wait there.

"I did that. I called them and no, you hadn't arrived 
yet.  They wanted the Triple A number, but I didn't 
have it. You had taken the card, remember? They finally 
agreed to send the tow truck out, anyway. One down, one 
to go, I thought.

"Telford kept telling me to relax, and then offered me 
a drink. It sounded like a good idea, and I told him to 
make it real stiff. He said, "itıll be that, all right" 
and asked me to join him inside.

"We went through a door in the back of the office down 
a hallway to a door he had to unlock to open. Turned 
out to be a kind of lounge, you know, soft chairs, lots 
of pillows, a bar on one side.

"He mixed me a drink he called a tomcat. It tasted 
good, like punch almost, but what a wallop. He waited 
until he thought I was reeling, and then told me he had 
a friend who would like to get acquainted with me.

"At first, I thought, he's got some kid there who's 
going to come in and really take advantage of me. But, 
no. What he's talking about is a big female cat, and I 
mean cat. He opened a door in the room and in bounded 
this thing. It had legs as long as mine, and black 
spots all over it.

"The thing was purring like crazy and kept getting down 
on its knees and elbows and crawling across the floor, 
its tail way up in the air. It reminded me of the way 
they get Lassie to crawl on TV when she's acting a part 
where she's wounded.

"After crawling like that for a while, the big leopard 
would throw herself on her side and roll over on her 
back, feet up in the air. She would do this once or 
twice and then get back up and start meowing. And what 
meowing! In that small room it was frightening."

"Telford is enjoying every minute of it, of course. He 
sat there and just roared, that big belly just heaving 
up and down."

"Finally he said, 'let's have some fun' and went over 
to the wall and pushed a switch. The whole Wall opened 
like locks on a canal and out came a low king-sized bed 
along the floor. It finally stopped before it knocked 
me down."

"He wanted us to take our clothes off, but I said 
nothing doing. Wait until you feel all that fur against 
your body, he said.

"At that point, Bea, I was confused. I still didn't 
hanker to strip down for that big galooka for any 
reason, but wasn't sure at the same time what he was 
intending."

"Do as you please then, he said. Watch, if you want, he 
told me. They pay good money to see this in Saigon, and 
so on. My first impulse was to turn around and get the 
crap out of there, but you know, Bea, how funny I can 
think something is when everyone else is somber-faced. 
I stayed."

"Telford started taking his clothes off. When he was 
fully stripped, he looked a sight. That man is the 
hairiest thing I've ever seen. There wasn't a spot on 
that body that