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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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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 I could see that wasn't covered with
hair, except for what was dangling out of you know
where. He paddled over to the bed with the cat and both
of them started rolling around in it. He grabbed the
cat in a tight embrace and wrestled with it as they
rolled."
"Sure you don't want to try it, he asked me, stopping
to stroke the animal down the back. The big cat loved
it all and purred and purred. It sounded as though they
were building a subway underneath the building, the
purring was so deep-throated. I was sure, I said."
"I saw then that Telford was getting a hard-on. It just
came bobbing up out of the mixture of hair and fur on
the bed. He sat up and clutched it in one hand as if he
didn't know what to do with it. His eyes had a glassy
look, and I thought for a second he was going to sit
there and masturbate. He came out of the trance and
reached with his hand for a spot far down on the cat's
underbelly. With his thumb and forefinger, he tweaked
the spot several times. The effect of the cheetah was
instantaneous. It immediately locked itself into that
crawling position I told you it was doing before. It
threw its tail up and started creeping forward on the
bed."
"Now I noticed, where I didn't before, a large pink
hole with a cream-colored rim pouting open several
inches down from the tail. It caught the light's
reflection and glistened. Telford got down on his knees
behind the cat and placed the end of his tool square at
the lustrous center of that hole. The purr changed to a
lower-pitched vibrating noise, and I saw the flesh
around the hole push up and outward as if seeking to
grab hold of the intruder that bad disturbed it."
"The man eagerly allowed the grasping hole to have its
victim. The rim leeched around the end of his rigid
penis and began pulling it in as a snake might
convulsively swallow a young pig."
"The cat's vibrating noise increased in intensity. It
turned its head around as if to check on the source of
the thing penetrating it and opened its mouth in a deep
wail. This wait kept threatening to reach shriek
proportions. Telford's organ had gone all the way in,
but instead of pumping in and out as you would have
expected him to have done at that moment, he made a
series of uninterrupted vibrating movements forward.
They were of a very heavy nature affecting every muscle
in his legs. He was a big man, and it was something to
see the cat tearing him up like that. He came suddenly,
violently, as if all the juices in his body had been
sucked out through that one part of him."
"The cat had taken it all but would not let the man go.
I saw the mixture of pain and pleasure on his face. The
beast greedily maintained its hold. It wanted more, but
the man had no more to give, except the flesh itself."
"The cheetah was screaming loudly. Telford himself was
bellowing and digging his fingers into the animal's
sides, pushing himself backward. If anyone had been
outside the door and heard all that commotion, they
would have thought someone was being fed to the lions.
It was a terrible din. It was so wild, I stood up and
edged toward the door. I was afraid the cat would come
for me after finishing up with Telford."
"He finally got himself out of the cat's ass and sat on
the end of the bed. He pushed both palms down around
covering his genitals and howled. The howling was
interrupted by an occasional outburst like 'hah' and
'oho' and 'fat fuck'. He paid absolutely no attention
to me. The cat was flopping all over the bed doing
those rolling motions I told you about. It looked quite
pleased. It stopped the rolling only once to reach down
and lick at itself a few times and then went right back
to the rolling and tossing."
"Mizz Smallwood, Telford finally said to me, come on
over and give the little baby a hug. She won't hurt
you, he went on. She's just the softest most lovable
thing in the world."
"The whole business had frightened me as I said, but it
had also made me a little hot. After all, Telford
didn't have any clothes on, and they had been doing it
there right in front of me. I half wished the big cat
had been a tom and I might have been tempted."
"I was willing to settle for Telford even. All that
hair, and that big belly, not to mention that rod of
his, I thought maybe he had in mind to use me for
dessert, but when he got up, he walked back of the bar
and washed himself off in a little sink that was
there."
"Shall we have a drink then, before we leave, he said,
putting his shirt back on. I knew then he was in love
with that cat and no other pussy. I was still half-
clobbered from the last one and told him no thanks."
"He got all the way dressed then and put the cheetah
back where she had come from, and we came back down to
the office. It was not long after that the tow truck
came."
I looked at my sister when she had finished the story.
"You mean," I said, "he never once hinted at wanting to
have intercourse with you?" I turned over, propping my
head on my elbows.
She shook her head.
"Amazing," I declared. I decided to tell her the whole
story about Cameron then. She listened, laughing at
some of the ways I was describing the scene in the
Scotsman's living room.
"Well, it's true," she remarked when I had finished. "A
person becomes very devoted to a pet. I have to think
of myself with Clyde. Bea, you've never owned any pets
and don't know," she chided. "I'm surprised, too," she
continued, "considering your occupation."
"Maybe that's why," I suggested. "It may be that I did
not want to become too attached to an animal."
"Or a man either," she came back. "You're going to end
up an old lady having to pet your own pussy if you're
not careful. I don't know where you got to be so
independent."
"But you don't just have intercourse with Clyde," I
said, changing the subject. "I mean, you're not so
wrapped up with him that you can't think about doing it
with anyone else." I got up off the bed and walked to
the window.
"I suppose if it weren't for Jack, it might end up that
way," she posed. "Jack keeps me in touch with the world
of people somehow. Telford and this bagpipe player
don't have another human being in the house to remind
them."
"That's it, isn't it?" I surmised, turning from the
window. "They get so they like it that way and no
other, and when the opportunity comes along to go to
bed with a real woman, they either don't recognize it
or can't work up any interest."
Helen was blushing. I knew she must have been thinking
about Clyde. She did like it when the pooch did it to
her, and maybe liked it better than with Jack, well,
certainly with Jack, and for all I knew, better than
with anyone that she had done it with since Clyde first
screwed her that night.
"Bea?" she queried. "Do you honestly think we'll find
Clyde?" The tone of her question implied she was
falling into depression again.
"You've done everything anyone could do in the
situation," I assured her. "I'm optimistic myself, and
you should be, too." I walked over to her and patted
her shoulder.
"I miss getting it," she said, "getting it good like
that, and this morning, watching Telford do it to his
cat reminded me." She bent her head down and kissed the
back of my hand.
"Well, there's always the pony," I remarked.
Her eyes lighted up. "That's true," she declared. "I
had forgotten about him." She stood up and went over to
the window. "He's down there grazing." She turned to
face me. "Let's get him inside. It's my turn, isn't
it?"
She took off for the stairs with me following. We kept
colliding with each other in the run and started
laughing. Helen reached the back door first and opening
it said, "You get him, Bea. Your robe is heavier than
mine." It was true. You could see right through the
thin nylon of her robe. The firm breasts were heaving
outward as she tried to catch her wind after running so
hard.
I stepped out into the yard. The pony, expecting a
handful of grain, came trotting up to me and worked its
lips at my right hand. It had such a soft mouth. A
light breeze was playing with the snow white mane, and
the afternoon sun gave its tawny hide an almost golden
sheen.
"You can have some grain," I said softly to him. "But
first a little fun inside." I gave him a pat on his
cheek, and guided him back into the kitchen.
Helen was holding the door open. "Do you think we can
get him to do it again?" she asked as we came inside.
"Oh, I'm so hot," she squealed, clutching her crotch
through the robe. She did a little jumping movement and
followed us into the living room.
The pony walked to the center of the room, lowered his
head and shook it four or five times. He put one
foreleg out stiff in front of him and licked at one of
the joints.
Helen had taken off her robe and was walking around him
looking longingly at every part of him. She came up to
him and ran her thighs along his flank.
"Just the feel of him is enough to set you off," she
declared. "What marvelous hair!"
She knelt down on one knee and started caressing the
folded skin out of which his enormous shaft would
surely emerge if she were successful.
I knelt down on the other side and watched her
ministrations. She was feeling his testicles with her
other hand, cupping her hand under first one and then
the other, and then trying to feel the weightiness of
both of them at once.
"What big balls!" she oodled.
The pony turned his head and stretched it backward
under his belly as if to nibble at her kneading
fingers, but otherwise was showing no reaction to her
efforts.
"How did he get hard yesterday?" I asked her.
"I don't know," she answered. "I just walked into the
living room, and there it was, coming out."
"Do you suppose he knows?" I wondered out loud. "Or is
it an involuntary action?"
Helen got back on her feet and walked over to the sofa.
"I'm going to get down like with Clyde," she said,
kneeling before the sofa and placing her hands up on
the cushions. She spread her knees apart and jutted her
butt back and upward. "Bring him over," she requested.
I walked the pony to where her gorgeous bottom was
exposed. The lips were swollen and had a purply pink
color that showed through the hair. Just the faintest
hint of a wet, dark red interior was visible along the
line separating them.
I couldn't resist patting the pert little puffiness
that bulged up at me. Her reaction was to wiggle her
rear end and groan, thrusting the fat cunny upward some
more. The lips opened to reveal more of the engorged
tissue inside. It was stunningly moist. How could the
pony resist it?
The pony did notice it and mouthed it gently with his
Ups, breathing heavily on it at the same time.
"Oh, gosh! I wish somebody would do something," Helen
moaned. It struck me as an odd statement.
The pony licked out at the gash, turning its head
sideways so that the juicy tongue was aligned
vertically with it. The big muscle slopped and pushed
as it churned up the flesh. His saliva foamed slightly
around his lips, and as he bared his teeth at one
point, I was afraid he might try to bite.
Helen had pushed her face down into the sofa cushion.
It was bright red and covered with sweat. Her eyes were
glazed, and her mouth held loosely open. Her breath was
coming out in heavy shuddering sighs.
The pony raised one front hoof and dug at Helen's back.
I could tell by the way she raised her head suddenly
that it had hurt, and I ran to the coat closet,
bringing back a thick, fluffy car coat. I threw this
across her back.
The animal was slowly getting an erection. It came out
almost imperceptibly at first and then, like one of
those long, thin balloons, Filled out fast at the end.
The skin stretched very tightly along the length of it
when it was fully hard, and the big, blobby knob at the
tip seemed enormous.
Again, he raised a hoof at her back. The third time, he
succeeded in getting both hooves up and took aim with
his organ. I couldn't believe that huge shaft would
positively land on target when he landed, and got down
on the floor beside them.
Grabbing the thick, massive stick of meat, I tried by
bending and waving to aim it at the precise spot. It
took both hands to hold it steady.
Whinnying and pawing at Helen's back, the animal lunged
downward. With an awful glopping noise, the big head
poked into the space between the lips, slamming in with
tremendous force.
I sprang back quickly, releasing my grip. The entire
organ went down like the Titanic, with a rush, filling
into the space available to it at an alarming pace.
Helen's head was pushed into the back of the sofa. She
grunted in one long horrible sound that a person being
pressed to death might have made. Her face was pushed
out of shape where it was against the upholstery.
The big penis finally struck bottom with about four or
five inches still to go inside. The pert little bottom
I had just been admiring was opened and stretched
beyond credibility, the lips clutching at the shaft
seeming about to split.
Helen recovered quickly from the initial thrust and
pushing up with her hands, regained a tenable position.
The huge organ was imbedded deeply inside her, and she
seemed determined to brave its next assaults.
The pony began working the staff back and down in a
series of short, broadly based thrusts that seemed
designed to achieve complete penetration. Something in
the animalıs instinct apparatus was telling it
everything was not right as long as the merest fraction
of an inch remained outside.
He was driving against her, pressing and stretching,
his rump weaving to and fro, as the organ dug deeper
into her.
For her part, she pushed back against him apparently
eager to take as much as he was willing to give. The
natural juices began to ooze from around his shaft as
it moved back and forth between the completely
distended lips of her vulva. It was working out okay.
"Oh, boy!" she finally found the words. "This is the
ride of my life." Her head was raised high, and I
noticed she was biting at her lower lip. "This coat is
so damned hot," she muttered.
The pony kept packing it in, deeper and still deeper. I
could see that about two inches remained outside. The
enormous testicles were already beginning to bump
against her thighs. Gradually, those same testicles
began to pull up, and the skin around them acquired an
increasingly complex network of ridges.
Snorting and blowing, the animal increased the tempo of
his thrusts. His forelegs began to slip off Helen's
back on either side, and he allowed his head to hang
down, its one side pressed against her ribcage.
His balls had by now been drawn up into his groin
completely, and I took this to mean those great agates
were about to be emptied of their contents.
Sure enough, the animal made one last thrust of a
frenzier nature than the others and let out a deep,
satisfying neigh that seemed to originate from deep
within him.
The hot come must have been gushing into her then.
After the third or fourth spasm, it came babbling out
all around his organ and ran down into her pubic hair,
some of it trailing off down her thighs, a few blobs
dropping off onto the floor.
Most of the action was now due to Helen's movements as
the pony gradually stopped all motion. Helen let out a
shriek of pleasure suddenly and collapsed forward on
the sofa again. The coat fell down around her head,
blocking my view of her face.
The pony made a couple of short deep neighs and backed
off. As his organ was withdrawn, the fat head inside
momentarily resisted, stretching the lining out like so
much taffy. As a rubber band will snap when released,
the end popped out finally, letting loose a well spring
of come from inside her vagina.
I ran into the bathroom for some Kleenex and hurried
back, placing a pile of them under her so at least to
protect the sofa from the oozing flow. She was so open
I could have thrust in my hand and arm up to the elbow.
This, I thought, must be how I looked to Helen the day
before.
She was enjoying her reverie, and I chose not to
disturb her. Placing the rest of tissues on the sofa,
I guided the pony into the kitchen and outside. He was
such a gentle, docile beast except when he was
screwing.
I thought of so many men I had known who were just the
opposite. Gruff, aggressive, loud, even bellicose some
of the time, they were just barely adequate in bed.
I heard the shower running upstairs when I came back
into the living room and concluded Helen had gone up.
There was going to be another wet spot on the carpet
today. I went into the kitchen for the necessary
cleaning materials.
After brushing out the spot I had cleaned with some
paper towels, I sat back on the sofa. Watching the pony
have intercourse with Helen had left me high. There had
been no release as there seldom is for the voyeur
unless he chooses to masturbate.
The lighthearted feeling combined with the blood-
engorged tissues in my pelvic region was completely
unsatisfying. I looked forward to the evening when we
would drive over to John's house. I would leave it to
him to figure out a way for us to be alone.
It irritated me that I had allowed my last thought to
enter my brain. I didn't usually give up on a problem
by telling myself some man would solve it for me. That
was falling into the trap of female subdominant, which
had led to thousands of years of slavery for women.
I had best watch my step with him, I thought, since he
was leading me into the valley of temptation that way.
I produced a mental picture of him, his easy going way,
his willingness to banter or argue as the whim moved
me. I also liked the fact that he was something of a
loner.
I could live with a guy like that, I concluded.
Business thoughts and returning to New York entered my
head. There was one more pony owner to see. I got up
and went into my bedroom, taking the little notebook I
carried around with me out of my bag.
Thumbing through it, I found the phone number of the
man who had bought four ponies from Cunningham. Walking
back into the kitchen to the phone, something odd
struck me about the number. It occurred to me that I
had seen that telephone exchange and exact number
somewhere else.
I dialed the number and a very soft-spoken male voice
answered. I explained who I was and how I had come by
the number and asked his permission to come and see him
and take a few pictures of the ponies.
"I only have one pony," he said softly.
I explained that Cunningham had told me there were
four.
"I only have one pony," he repeated in the same tone.
As he was obviously reticent to expand on the subject,
at least over the phone, I dropped it and asked if I
could visit him. He seemed willing, in a vague kind of
way, and suggested a date about a week hence. I told
him that was impossible and explained my schedule.
"All right," he said flatly. "Come by tomorrow morning.
Ten o'clock."
He gave me his name as Albert Felt. The address was a
rural route box number on a country road. I thought of
Cunningham's description of the place, and it certainly
fitted what one might imagine from the address just
given me by Felt.
Helen came down in her robe. Her hair was swept up on
top of her head, and she was humming gaily.
"Fully recovered?" I asked, winking at her.
"Except I feel pretty well reamed out," she allowed.
"Not sore, though," she was quick to point out. "Just,"
she paused, "what is the word I want?" she asked.
"Enlarged?" I suggested.
She winced.
"How about 'reshaped'?" I proposed.
"That's it," she said. "I just feel reshaped. How about
a cup of coffee, Sis?"
"Good idea."
"I should start dinner," she informed me, looking at
the wall clock. "If we're all going out tonight, we
should eat early." She fixed some percolated coffee,
and we chatted while it perked. I told her about Felt.
She would go, she said, but didn't like to be away from
the house so much with Clyde gone.
I suddenly remembered where I had seen Felt's telephone
number before and got up to go into the living room. I
found the little slip of paper I had discovered the
afternoon before. It was where I had seen it, in the
pocket of one of Jack's coats. There was no mistake. It
was Felt's number.
Coming back into the kitchen I asked Helen, "Have you
ever heard Jack mention this fellow Felt?"
"Never," she said. "Why?"
I told her of what I had accidentally found in the
pocket.
"Jack knows an awful lot of people," she told me. "What
does this guy do?"
"I think Cunningham told me he owned a garage," I said.
"Well, there's your explanation," she said. "Jack knows
every garage owner in the state of Texas. He sells
tires. I don't think it's anything strange that he
would know this guy Felt." She looked at me for a
minute. "If you want, I can ask him," she offered.
Something told me I shouldn't have mentioned the matter
to her. "I'd rather you didn't," I said. "It was silly
of me to bring it up. It's just a dumb coincidence."
We sat there waiting for the coffee to be ready. I
could tell by Helen's expression that she thought I was
on to something about Jack. Just what that something
was, I hesitated to ask even myself.
Chapter 6
We arrived at John's place about eight o'clock. It had
been darker than usual that night, and Jack experienced
some difficulty negotiating the road up to the house.
It turned out to be every bit as winding as John had
described it, and I could imagine the road after a
heavy rainstorm.
Jack was in high spirits. Helen had promised to return
the pony the day after next, but only because Jack had
carried on so. Pleased at her acquiescence, he had
mixed himself a few highballs after dinner and had
become jolly company for us ever since.
John's house turned out to be more of an oversized
cabin than a regular house. As we pulled up, I noticed
another car next to John's pickup.
John met us at the door and we trooped inside en masse.
The interior resembled a lodge. We entered first a
narrow hallway lined with coat hooks, but this led
directly to a huge living room with a fireplace at one
end and a balcony all along one side. A small fire
burned in the fireplace.
Stereo speakers were placed on each side of the
fireplace, which was very wide and made of a white
stone of some kind. Music was coming from all sides of
the room, however, and I noticed another pair of
speakers at the opposite end of the room. The walls
were covered with paintings.
A large polished oak bar had been installed near the
fireplace just under one end of the balcony. It was
heavily carved and looked like it might have been
European. There was a man standing behind the bar,
leaning on his elbows and swishing a drink in his
hands. He was staring right at me with an almost
imperceptible smile on his face.
John introduced everybody calmly, and asked what we
were drinking. All of the men had either bourbon or
scotch, but Helen as usual asked for a cocktail. I
settled for some bourbon on the rocks with a little
soda.
The man behind the bar was introduced as Perry Somers,
John's lawyer and drinking partner. The latter
designation brought smiles to both of them. He had
dropped by unexpectedly, and there was a lot of
repartee about where to find a girl for him to round
out the party.
Some jokes were made about sharing the girls who were
already there, and I was certain that the idea was not
entirely a matter of humor to Somers.
John passed out the drinks and we grouped ourselves
around the fireplace. He explained that we were hearing
quadraphonic, not stereophonic, music being produced
because there were four speakers instead of two. The
music sounded like early ragtime piano.
As I sat there, I thought of the difference a few years
made in terms of a get-together like this, or perhaps
it was a matter of geography.
The last gathering I had attended in New York had
involved people a good decade younger on the average.
There had been no booze, just pot for those who wanted
it, very loud rock music, and low, low lights. There
wasn't all the talk about sex as there seemed to be
here, but there was plenty of action although none of
it was very private.
I wondered what kind of a sex scene was going to evolve
out of the five of us. My personal preference was to
have John all to myself somewhere for the rest of the
evening, but the independent streak in me was telling
me maybe that would just lead to unwanted
complications.
John was friendly but seemed to be making a point of
not appearing possessive with me. I was annoyed that
that should bother me, which it obviously did. Somers
was acting like he had a clear field with me. It made
me wonder what John had gotten to tell him about me
before we arrived.
"As a writer," Somers was telling me, "you must have
some opinions about today's young people."
"I do," I said. "I think they are just as you named
them. Young people."
"I detect then a note of disapproval. You feel,
perhaps, like many of us, that parents and the nation
as a whole have been too permissive?"
"When there is affluence, much leisure time, and a high
degree of technology, permissive attitudes are a
natural consequence," I said. "I myself could not, as a
woman, be as independent as I am in a poor, struggling
society such as exists today in Latin America, for
example."
"I should expect you to express your independence quite
agreeably wherever you lived, Miss Starr," he
complimented me.
"Beatrice," I informed him.
"Ah yes, Beatrice. Bay-at-trichay." He gave it the
Italian pronunciation. "Dante's distant vision of
loveliness, and you are very lovely, Beatrice, too." He
kept his eyes on me as he drank. "And very intelligent
as well."
He was spreading it on thick. I figured then he had me
all staked out for the bedroom. I glanced at John. He
was taking it all in from across the room, all smiles.
I pretended complete bemusement.
"You feel then, Bea, your independence, or your
freedom, whatever you want to call it, exists only
because men have permitted it?"
"In a patriarchal society, such as we have, it could
not be otherwise," I said.
"I think you must hate us men very much," he imagined.
"Tell me then, Bea. I'm calling you Bea, I hope you
don't mind. Tell me that you don't hate me. I should
feel terrible if you said otherwise."
"Why don't you fix me another drink?" I asked, tiring
of his game.
"By all means, Bea," he replied, getting up and going
over to the bar.
John was sitting in between Jack and Helen and came
over when he saw Somers head for the bar.
"What do you think of the old family retainer?" he
asked me.
"Who is he retaining tonight?" I wanted to know.
"Are you interested?" he asked, pretending surprise.
"I'll relay the message, that is, if you haven't
already. But Perry's a little dense that way."
"He's only dense when it comes to saying noı," I
informed him.
Somers returned with two drinks. "Here you are, Bea."
He sat down across from us. "Your little friend is
quite charming, Johnny. It's a pity you can't tie her
up or something. New York's such a dreadful place." He
sipped his new drink carefully.
"Maybe a lot of people might think the same of Dallas,"
I said to him, a bit ruffled.
"Perhaps. But you never hear it," he said. "And you
always hear it about New York."
I refused to be baited into defending the place I had
chosen to live in, particularly when I wasn't sure why
he was hoping I would lose my temper. He probably hoped
to work the old ploy of women being unstable, emotional
and the like.
He could then say to John, "See, your free-flying
little bird is just like all the rest. Clip her wings
and sheıll keep house for you."
"How long have you lived here?" I asked John.
"About six months, Bea. How do you like it?" he asked.
"It's cozy," I said, "and isolated. It's such a funny
place to live in all by yourself."
"Haven't you told her, Johnny?" Somers interrupted.
"Told me what?" I looked startled.
"It isn't perhaps that important, Perry," John said.
"Bea wants no involvements."
Somers laughed out loud at that. "You naive boy," he
almost choked. "At, what is it, forty-one? Two? There
hasn't been a woman born, Johnny, who doesn't want that
ball and chain welded on. This lovely girl is no
exception."
I hated to see John let himself become embarrassed but
his friend had succeeded.
"Perry is very opinionated, Bea. He also is not going
to be satisfied until he can find that chink in your
armor where he can dig the old knife in. Don't let him
find it," John said.
"Bravo, Johnny!" Somers roared.
"Forewarned is forearmed, Bea. My terrible secret is
out."
"What is it that he meant before, John?" I asked, my
curiosity still aroused.
"This house was built for me and my future wife, Bea,"
he said. We were to have been married last June, but
Pat's mother in Los Angeles developed terminal cancer,
and we put things off until January."
"You mean you're engaged, is that it?" I asked.
He nodded.
I couldn't help but laugh. I don't know what I had
expected him to say, but the news of his engagement was
anticlimactic. Somers was examining my face for the
faintest sign of disappointment.
"Ten to one, Johnny," Somers said, "Ten to one, she
starts acting differently with you."
"I'll get in on that bet, too," I said. "There may be a
lot of angles here you haven't even thought of, Mister
Attorney." I said it and wasn't even sure myself what I
meant by it. It had an effect on him.
"What's happening over here?" Helen interrupted.
Somers was looking at me and thinking.
"What do you say we get more comfortable?" John
suggested. "Bea, I'll show you the rest of the house."
He walked over to the wall and turned a switch, dimming
the lights in the room to a very low level. "Come on,"
be said.
I got up and followed John to a stairway leading up to
the balcony. We walked up together, arm in arm. When we
reached the top, he took me in his arms and kissed me.
All I could think of was Somers down below, watching my
every move.
"Your mind's not on your work," John informed me.
"Your friend. How does Pat get along with him?" I
asked.
"Hate each other's guts, naturally," John informed me.
"Seriously," I urged.
"Well, actually, he thinks Pat would make a good wife
for me, like he thinks of a wife, a housekeeper,
mother, mistress combination thing. But in reality I
don't think he wants me to get married at all. We've
been bachelors all our lives, and he sees no reason to
change."
We walked slowly down a corridor to a large bedroom.
"This is the master bedroom," he said, turning up a
dimmer switch. Several colorful paintings on the walls
attracted my attention.
"Who did all these wonderful paintings?" I asked.
"You're looking at him."
"John, you're an artist!" I exclaimed, amazed I hadn't
found it out sooner. "You must think me awfully
uninterested in you." It had not even occurred to me
before to ask him what he did.
He seemed embarrassed. "Some of these are Patıs."
"Those downstairs, are they all yours?" I asked.
He nodded.
I shut the door and walked over to the bed, unbuttoning
my blouse. I sat down on
the bed to remove my shoes.
"You're not bothered, knowing this belongs to someone
else?" he inquired.
"I said no strings. How could I be bothered?" I lied. I
was down to my bra and panties when he came over and
sat down beside me.
"I had hoped downstairs, after you had found out, that
it might make a difference," he revealed.
He was showing me a side of him I didn't like. He was
sincere in letting me know he cared, but I felt it was
unfair under the circumstances.
I cared about him, too, but I wasn't sure how much. I
was certain, though, that if I admitted to caring, the
very act of admission and its results were likely to be
out of all proportion to the game.
"Let's just make love," I said, lying down on the bed.
He got up to dim the lights and began undressing very
slowly and quietly. I could hear the voice of Somers
downstairs talking very loudly, followed by Helen's
laughter.
Lying naked on the large bed I was conscious for the
first time in ages of being outside my body. I was
standing beside the bed looking down at my nakedness,
only it wasn't me looking but somebody that had part of
me forever inside him, and that part made it be me.
And it wasn't me lying on the bed, but somebody that
had a part of me forever inside her, and that part of
it made it be me.
John climbed up on the bed. In the dim light I saw his
erection bobbing between his legs and I wondered what
part of me he was going to touch first. I felt his
fingers close over one knee, linger a moment, and then
move forward caressing my hip.
He moved his knees in close, and I felt the hair on his
legs brush against my thighs. As he moved forward the
hardness of his body enveloped me and brought tears to
my eyes. Closing my eyes tightly, I fought them back
and reached up around him with my arms.
I opened my legs for him to enter as he must, for what
other way is there? The rigid penis with the bulging
head so hard and yet so soft, a velvet cushion perched
on the end of a steel rod, punched lightly at my vulva.
My vagina was drier than usual, and the fat organ did
not immediately penetrate. It pushed in very slowly,
the want of lubrication giving me the impression his
prick was much bigger than it was. I could feel the
pressure of entry tugging at the skin as the shaft
moved relentlessly forward.
"Oh, John," I whispered.
The feeling of tightness persisted even after he was in
and began pumping the organ back and forth. The juices
started flowing then, generously covering his rod, and
the tugging ceased. He drove deeper and deeper,
determined to make his penetration of me a part of his
life and my life together.
I could feel his heaving chest as it expanded against
my breasts, the hard ribs of him against the soft flesh
of me. He was kissing the tears off my face and then
kissing the source of those tears. He was able to do
that.
I was letting myself go with him, not holding back, and
it brought me to climax quickly. The churning of the
stiff male instrument deep within me soon brought
little pulses of pleasureful feeling at the end of each
downstroke, each one greater than the one before. They
began to build to such intensity that I was hurting for
release. And I needed release. I needed it and wanted
it that moment more than I ever had.
I clutched him to me as the exploding pleasure suddenly
spread throughout my system, filling every nerve and
every capillary. It spread like morphine through a
dope-starved addict's body, reaching out to toe and
fingertip alike, bringing peace and love and happiness.
And while I lay there filled with ecstasy, he came
inside me, filling me with the hot butter from his
balls, pumping shot after shot of the sperm that had
been his, which he now willingly, gladly gave to me in
quick, hard spurts.
We lay in each other's arms for a long time, sleeping
the sleep of two who had seized a moment without
reservations, without guilt, and had won.
I awoke after dreaming dreams that left my memory on
awakening. Dreams that left only sadness at having
forgotten the Eden I must have been dreaming about.
I felt the bed for John and he was no longer on it.
Where had he gone? Perhaps he was still in the room. I
called his name softly and got no reply. I noticed the
lights had been turned all the way off.
"John!" I called, more loudly.
"How about John's alter ego?" a voice I recognized at
once declared.
My first thought was, Why did John let this happen? My
second was irritation at the first. I was independent,
wasn't I? John was not my lord protector, nor did I
want him to be.
"Methinks the lady's silence doth protest too much,
Somers said.
"What in hell are you doing in here?" I asked,
controlled fury in my tone. "Get out!"
"Melodrama from the lady. Get out at once, you cad, you
scoundrel!" he declared in mock theatrical tones.
I peered through the darkness of the room. He was
somewhere over near the door. A likely place, I
thought. Cut me off if I made a run for it.
"Somers," I began, "You wanted me to tell you that I
didn't hate you tonight. Now it's my turn to ask why
you dislike me so much."
The voice moved over nearer the bed. "I don't dislike
you, Beatrice. I'm afraid of you. There is something in
you that threatens me."
He was talking like a crazy person. "You've seen too
many horror movies," I said. "Get out of here!" It was
hard to take him seriously, talking nonsense like that.
Suddenly the lights came on full blast. I saw him then,
about midway between the door and the bed. He was
standing stark naked with an erect penis tilting off at
an angle. It was somewhat short but fat. He seemed to
enjoy his exhibition of it.
I got up off the. bed like a shot and started hunting
for my clothes. Someone had taken them from the floor
where I had dropped them.
"Clothes are useless commodities, aren't they?" he
said. "Especially when there is lovemaking to be
enjoyed."
"Enjoyed?" I asked. I had folded my arms over my
breasts. I sat down finally on the bed and pulled the
quilt over my body, turning away from him entirely.
"Maybe if I pretend you're not there, you'll go away."
He walked over very close to me, holding his erection
forward.
"I don't expect you to give me the full treatment, Bea.
I already know you want to get married, so no amount of
convincing me how much you really love John, as you
probably just did with him, would change my notion that
marriage is all you are after. What is it you really
want in bed?" he insisted.
"You're a sick man, Mr. Somers. You have some hang-up
about women that's made you sick," I said, feeling
myself starting to come unglued.
"You wouldn't be any good for John. If he has to have a
wife, the one he's got is more suited to his
personality. Your independent ways would destroy his
talent in no time. Why, just keeping track of your
comings and goings would be a full-time job," he kept
bringing his penis closer and closer.
"What is it you want me to do? I'm leaving here in a
day or two. John knows that. As far as I know, I'll
never see him again." I was beginning to shake.
"The hysterical woman! Spare me, please." He brought
his penis within inches of my face. "Here," he said,
indicating his stiff organ. "Take this. It's the best
medicine in the world for little girls who have lost
their way."
He wanted me to suck his cock. It was a symbolic act of
some kind. It would prove in his mind that I was
inferior.
It wouldn't work, I thought. It wouldn't work because
for one thing, I didn't believe it. It takes two people
to make a religion. I was determined to turn the
tables on him.
I jumped up suddenly. "Lie down on the bed," I
commanded. He appeared stunned, too stunned to disobey.
I got on top of him in the sixty-nine position, making
sure my pussy was full into his face. He began to
protest, but I ignored him.
He was not a strong man or he might have been able to
throw me off. As it was I had a devil of a time staying
on top of him that way. I sat with my muff full on his
head.
His erection had fallen off slightly. I picked it up
and, holding it by the base, stuck it into my mouth. I
sucked hard on it, stretching it out and rolling my
tongue down around and along it. It stiffened back up
pretty fast.
He must have been standing there in the dark with his
erection for a long time, because there was a lot of
pre-seminal fluid in the organ. The sweet, nut-like
taste of it was unmistakable in my mouth.
His erection restored, I began blowing him in earnest,
rising and failing with my head in a steady rhythm,
salivating copiously and sucking at the same time.
It was a short cock, but fit well inside my mouth. I
could close down on the base with my lips without any
feeling of gagging. On the other hand, it was quite
fat, and distended the lips considerably.
His balls hung loosely in a rather flabby looking
scrotum. My nose kept poking into the sac as I went
down. As I was working, I noticed the skin on the sac
begin to convolute as the testicles began to rise.
So far he had not made any attempt to perform
cunnilingus on me, and I gave up hoping.
I began to pick up the rhythm of my rising and failing
head as his testicles pulled up tighter and tighter.
The sac had lost its flabbiness and actually became a
tight little pouch under his penis. It began to turn a
dark purple red.
As things fast approached a climax, he began to move
instinctively in rhythm with my movements. His pelvis
made thrusts upward as I drove downward with my mouth.
The scrotum pulled up further and became one fat, tight
ball. As it almost disappeared into his groin, I felt
the head of his cock swell suddenly inside my mouth.
Instantaneously the first squirt of hot come jetted
deep down into my throat, I gulped instinctively.
The organ pumped out more in successive spurts. I
sucked hard and kept swallowing in deep gulps trying to
keep up with the load. I didn't hold back on any of
it. When I had swallowed the last drop, I let go of it
and collapsed, gasping, my mouth tingling and my throat
on fire from the hot sperm.
During the hot flush of swallowing the load I had
failed to feel my partner's activity down below. He was
muffing me rather crudely without any plan or apparent
knowledge of what he was about, but he was trying.
"My dearest Bea," he said, "does that feel good?"
He wasn't going to get me off the way he was kissing
me, but it wasn't unpleasant. I especially enjoyed the
fact that he was down there after all.
"Fine," I said.
For a lawyer, he made a lousy face man.
Chapter 7
"So the three of you were in bed together," I said.
Helen and I were sitting at the kitchen table having a
second cup of coffee after Jack left for work.
"Yes," she replied. "And your Mr. Young is one of the
gentlest men in bed I've ever known."
I felt a twinge of jealousy which I put down right
away. So that's where he disappeared! In fact, I hadn't
seen him again. Somers and I went downstairs for a
drink, after he had given me back my clothes, of
course. Somers had mellowed after our encounter. Later,
Jack and Helen came down, and we left.
"What did Jack have to say about all this?" I asked. "I
thought he was pretty square."
"He wants to please me, Bea. I think he would agree to
anything as long as he wasn't left out of it." she
said.
"Well, what did you do?" I asked.
"When you and Jack went upstairs, Jack started telling
me jokes, dirty jokes. He knows a million of them, as
you know. He went through four of them, and then Mr.
Somers told a really filthy one. That man has a low
opinion of women, Bea. You should have heard that
story. Disgusting!" she averred.
"I did an operation head-start on him," I said. "Maybe
he has a higher opinion of us now." I remembered how
Somers had almost cracked me too. What happened after
the filthy joke?"
"Jack told a few more of his traveling salesman ones,
and then Mr. Somers said he was tired and wanted to go
lie down. He said if we were very tired, he would show
us a spare bed upstairs. Jack and I said fine and up we
went.
"Well, we both got undressed in the bedroom Mr. Somers
had pointed out to us and we were just about ready to
get down to business, when in walks Mr. Young, stark
naked and carrying his clothes with him.
"He said he was sorry and would be glad to turn the
lights out when he left. He said he had been using the
bedroom temporarily until he got married.
"I rolled over onto my elbows and told him it was all
right. I didn't mind that he had come in, and I told
him that Jack didn't mind, and why didn't he just
stay." She giggled.
"Why you little devil," I said. "What did he say to
that?"
"He looked at me, I mean at what I've got here. You
know." She pointed at her breasts. "He said I was a
beautiful creature, and that Jack was lucky to have me
for a wife."
"Next thing I know, his thing starts swelling, and if
he had any ideas about leaving the room, he soon forgot
them. He dropped his clothes on the floor and came over
to the bed.
"Jack started fussing then, and I kept telling him to
shush. Jack was really embarrassed. But Mr. Young
started talking to him and pretty soon Jack was all for
it. "Well, Mr. Young lay down on the bed first, on his
back. That thing of his was just a rootin' tootin' to
go. I wanted it bad too. He told me to get on top of
him, which I did, and he put it in. 'Boy,' he said,
that's wide open country!! On account of the pony, you
know." She glanced at me shyly.
"Next thing he told Jack to get on his knees behind me
and stick his thing up my rear end. Did you ever? Jack
really was hot for the idea, too, and he never has
suggested anything like that at home. I couldn't
believe it.
"He told Jack where to find some cream to use, and Jack
went and got it. He put it all over his thing and then
rammed it up me. It felt like fire at first, but then
all three of us going to town like that together like
that, it started to feel good with two things like that
in me at once. Have you ever done that?"
"We all three came at about the same time and toppled
over. Jack had had a lot to drink and went off into
dreamland almost at once. I mean he went out. Talk
about sawing wood!" she exclaimed.
"Mr. Young said to follow him, and he went into another
bedroom where he made love to me extra special. I asked
him where you were, and he said you were sleeping. I
asked him if you would mind if you knew what he were
doing, and he said no, you didn't have any strings on
him and vice-versa."
"Was that it then?" I asked, irritated beyond compare.
I was seething inside. I wanted to get into the car and
drive over there and break something over his head. I
looked down at the floor and began mentally counting
the tiles in an effort to take my mind off the whole
thing.
"That was it," she said. "What a night!"
I sat, staring at the floor and drumming my fingers on
the table.
"Helen," I began. "what do you think happened to
Clyde?" I got up from the table and walked slowly over
to the door leading to the back yard. The pony was
eating the lawn with singular dedication.
"I don't know, Bea," she responded, apparently puzzled
by my question.
"I mean," I said without turning, "what do you, Helen
Smallwood, personally think happened that day? You must
have some notion or theory. Your mind can't be a
blank."
"I'm afraid it is though, she replied. "I haven't the
faintest notion where he can be."
"Suppose we forget for the moment where he might be
right now," I argued. "How do you think he got out of
the house?" I turned around and faced her.
"I don't know that either, Bea. There didn't seem to be
any explanation. There was no way he could have
possibly gotten out."
"Exactly!" I said. "There was no way he could have
gotten out by himself."
"Are you suggesting someone took him out?" Helen asked.
"How did they get in? There was no sign of forced entry
anywhere."
I saw the realization of what I had planned for her to
think spread across her face. "J-Jack?" She looked up
at me in amazement. "You think Jack took Clyde? But he
didn't get home until evening," she protested. Her face
reddened suddenly. "Besides, for what reason would he
do a sneaky thing like that?"
"I'm not sure that he did, Helen," I confessed, walking
back and sitting down. She was on the verge of
resentment at my accusation. It was the reaction I had
expected and wanted somehow. I picked up a nail file
and fussed at my fingernails.
"No? You sure seem secretly pleased at the idea if
youıre not," she perceived. The thought I had planted
in her mind was cankering there. "Well?" she asked
suddenly. "Is that all you have to say, that you're not
sure?"
"I'm not sure," I repeated, looking down at my nails.
"There are just some things that make me think of the
possibility."
"What things?" she asked.
"Somebody that had a key would have had to let him out
of the house," I stated. "I heard Jack say last night
at John's that he got back early on Tuesday, not
Tuesday night as we assumed."
"He probably meant he got back to the office early in
the day," Helen countered. "He doesn't always come
directly home after a business trip."
"Then there's that telephone number," I brought out.
"The number of a man who keeps a lot of animals at his
place. Why would Jack have had just that number on a
slip of paper?"
"Didn't we already discuss that?" Helen reminded. "It's
undoubtedly a business contact. You said that man owned
a garage."
"Yes," I agreed, "But wouldn't it have been more likely
Jack would carry the telephone number of the garage?
The number on the slip is a home phone," I informed
her.
"Oh, Bea," Helen said impatiently, "he knows dozens of
those guys personally. Goes on hunting and fishing
trips all the time. I even know some of the wives."
"The telephone number of a friend like that would be in
some kind of address book, wouldn't it? I asked. "Jack
must keep account books, too. This was a fresh piece of
paper, and you said yourself you never heard him
mention the name before."
She practically glared at me. "Is that where you're
going this morning?" she wanted to know.
I nodded.
"Well, I'm going too," she announced, getting up out of
her seat. "Excuse me," she said. "I'm going to get
dressed." Her tone was short and curt.
I watched her as she trailed out of the kitchen in the
robe. If we found Clyde out there, she was going to be
madder than hell at Jack. Either way, she would be
angry with me for some time.
I had played with my nails long enough. They hadn't
really needed any manicuring. It was just a nervous
habit, and I had been nervous talking to my sister. I
hadn't intended mentioning the, possibility of Jack
taking Clyde until I was absolutely sure, and even then
if I could have arranged it with Jack, I might have
kept it from her.
Was I really so upset about John with Helen that I had
wanted to get even? I had always loved my sister above
all others, and now I had deliberately made her
uncomfortable.
I stood up and stretched. A warm, pleasureful sensation
ran down through my vulva. I squeezed my breasts
lightly and walked back to the bedroom to get dressed.
We were out on the highway to Fort Worth when Helen
spoke to me.
"If we find Clyde out there, what shall I do?" she
asked.
"About Jack?"
"Yes," she replied.
"He'll have to have an explanation," I said. "Helen," I
said in all seriousness, "is there any possibility he
might have come home early one day and caught you with
Clyde without you seeing him?"
"We always did it downstairs," she said. "Clyde doesn't
like to go up and down that staircase," she mentioned.
"I suppose," she went on, "if Jack had looked in a
window."
"What would he have done?" I asked. "Gone out and
gotten drunk and sworn to get rid of the dog, right?"
She puckered up her mouth and nodded.
"He's just going to have to live with both you and
Clyde, Helen," I insisted. "Compromise. Tell him you
only play with Clyde when he's away on trips because
you get so lonely for him. Tell him about all your girl
friends who play with men when their husbands are away.
Ask him if he'd like that better?"
"You know how he can get, Bea," Helen demurred. 'You
know how it has been with that pony. I don't think it
would work."
"If you would just take a stand. I know he loves you,"
I argued. "You said he would put up with almost
anything. Put it to the test."
"He wants to be a part of it," Helen said.
"Figure out a way," I urged her.
We were silent for a long time then. We passed through
Fort Worth easily. Helen knew a way to get around to
the other side without running into a lot of traffic.
She was still sulky to an extent. I knew finding Clyde
would be a tonic to her whatever the circumstances.
We had been driving along a back road to the northwest
for some time when Helen announced she had to go to the
bathroom real bad. After about another mile we saw a
service station up ahead on the left. It turned out to
be a small rural station offering a cut rate brand of
gasoline.
Helen parked the car away from the pumps so as not to
give the impression we wanted gas, and we got out.
A beefy kid of about twenty-one or two came pounding
out of the little station house grinning from ear to
ear.
"Maıam!" he greeted us. "Got troubles?"
"Bathroom troubles," I said. "Where's the rest room?" I
looked around the back of the house for a doorway but
could find none.
An older man came running out of the house. "What is
it, Homer?" He asked the fat boy. "What do them ladies
want? You ladies lost?" he addressed us.
"Stopped by just to use the rest rooms, Pa," he told
the older man. "I'll go on down and tidy up," he said,
padding off behind the house.
"That boy's a real worker," the man informed us. "Real
clever with his hands. Should have been a carpenter."
"Amazing," I noted, thinking about the enormous hams I
had observed at the end of each of the boy's arms.
"Are the rest rooms messy?" Helen asked him, appearing
somewhat leery of having to use them at all.
"Ain't that," he told us. "Just kids get in there
sometimes leaving a lot of paper laying around. Can't
always watch it. Homer'll set it in order. No point in
waiting here," he said. "Go on down."
We walked down and around the house and observed a path
running slightly downhill leading to a wooden outdoor
privy. There were two doors marked crudely with chalk
designating which was for men and which for women.
"Don't pay no attention to them signs," the old man
shouted after us. "One's the same as the other."
I looked at Helen and she laughed for the first time
that afternoon. We both laughed.
"Do you suppose Homer is still in there?" I asked Helen
when we reached the step leading to the doors.
"I don't know," she said, " but I can't wait or I'll
pee in my pants. Keep an eye out, Sis," she requested,
stepping up onto the platform and walking to the door
marked for women After she had gone inside and closed
the door, I debated whether or not to use the other
side. I didn't have to go so bad as Helen, but the
power of suggestion was working on me.
I decided to wait until Helen came out and use the one
properly marked for my own sex. I half expected to find
Homer waiting inside the other one anyway, grinning and
blushing sweatily, expectantly hoping I would show a
bit of pussy.
It seemed Helen was taking an awfully long time in
there. Maybe she had cramps as well as a full bladder.
The dear girl had a constipation problem since marrying
Jack. Too few orgasms will do it to a woman, I thought.
In a moment there came a shriek from inside followed by
gasping moans that seemed to die in intensity. I raced
up to the door and pushing it open and saw Helen seated
on the commode, her head thrown back, and her body
racked with what appeared to be the throes of sexual
passion.
Looking down at the round opening I could see her pussy
clearly. To my amazement huge strings of jism were
cascading down out of it into the pit below. What
looked like an entire load came out before it ceased
dripping.
"Good Lord!" I exclaimed. "What's happening in here,
Helen?" Looking around, I saw no one else was inside.
It seemed incredible. I started shaking her. "Helen, "
I insisted, "what happened?"
"Oh, Bea," she puffed, grabbing my arm for support.
"Believe it or not, I just got screwed." She was trying
to catch her breath. "And cripes, did it feel good.
Phew!"
"But how?" I begged her. "there was no one in here."
"Hand me that paper," she requested, pointing to a
small pile of cheap toilet tissues stacked on a shelf.
I handed several to her.
"Thanks," she said, wiping what was left of the load
from her cunt. She dropped the papers through the
opening and stood up, pulling up her underpants. "Wait
until we get back in the car," she whispered.
We walked up the slight incline together and back to
the front of the station. Homer was standing there red
as a beet and grinning. I noticed his sweat had soaked
through his shirt in several places. He reeked of body
odor.
The old man came out of the house as we got into the
car. "Hope you ladies found things to your liking," he
called out to us. Helen waved at him as we pulled out.
"Now tell me, I'm dying of curiosity"
"When I went in there, it looked like an ordinary
outhouse," she began. "I went over to the place where
you sit and pulled my pants down. I sat up over the
hole and began urinating."
"Well, she said, "I had just finished peeing when the
fattest, warmest thing you could imagine pushed its way
up into me. I didnıt know what it was at first, but it
sure felt like you know what.
"I looked down through the opening and saw the thing up
in me was definitely no imitation. There was a man
lying on his back underneath."
"Was it Homer?" I asked.
"I couldn't see his face," she said. "I could just see
that part of him that showed through the opening. It
was a fat man," she added.
"Then if must have been," I concluded. "That slob. What
a way to get a piece of ass!"
"I had no idea how long the thing was he had stuck in
me." she continued. "When I looked down, all I could
see was like a tree stump stuffed up between the lips.
I had the feeling that plenty was in there, though. It
was grand. It didn't seem as if he were going to get
around to pushing it in and out," she continued.
"He probably couldn't," I suggested. "Not in that
awkward position. Undoubtedly it took all his strength
just to hold on."
"I couldn't take it," Helen went on, "not just sitting
there stuffed like that with nothing happening. I
started rotating my bottom, you know. Around the
circle, then up, down. Around the circle, then up,
down. I didn't know about him, but it was sure working
on me."
"I started working that routine harder and faster, and
pretty soon I came. I could feel it running down out of
me. I noticed then that he was still working up into it
as best he could. He hadn't come yet. Before I knew it,
I felt a second orgasm building inside me. How many
times does that ever happen? You know how the second
one can really zap you, so I grit my teeth and hung
on."
"When the warm flow of all his come gushed up into me,
there was a wrenching spasm in my pelvis. I felt my
back arching and my legs go straight. It felt so good I
cried out. It must have frightened him because he
pulled out suddenly before I had had a chance to come
all the way down."
"That must have been when I arrived," I said. "You were
still way up there. Too bad," I sympathized with her.
"Yes," she agreed. "Why do some men do that? Jack does
that, Bea. You know it? Drop that load and get out
fast. That's his motto."
"I wonder how often Homer pulls off that little trick,"
I chuckled.
We had reached the county road leading to Felt's place.
Turning onto it we soon saw it was badly in need of
repair. Whatever county funds were earmarked for
paving roads must have always found priorities
somewhere else. It didn't appear to have been patched
in years.
Helen's car was fairly new, and each time a wheel ran
into a chuck hole in the road I felt a twinge of guilt
for having brought her car there.
"By day's end, you're going to have an old rattletrap
for a car," I said rather apologetically.
"If it means finding my pooch, I don't care," she
declared.
When it appeared we were close to the general area, I
told Helen to slow down in order to read the numbers on
the mailboxes. Some boxes carried the names of the
tenants as well as the number. Perhaps we would be
lucky and see Felt's name on one, I hoped.
Numbers had been placed on the mailboxes in many
different ways. No two boxes seemed to use the same
decals, paint or reflectors in posting the numbers.
To my delight, I saw Felt's name on a box up ahead. I
told Helen to drive alongside the box to check the
number just in case there was more than one Felt in the
neighborhood. The number checked.
Felt's farm was evidently not close to the county road.
A long, dirt road went off across the fields at a right
angle to the county road and must have continued for
quite a distance for no buildings were visible on the
immediate horizon.
Helen and I turned into the dirt road and bounced along
for what seemed like miles before a clump of buildings
came into view. As we pulled into the compound, we
were surprised at the number of animals to be seen
around us.
There were the usual barnyard animals running loose;
chickens, ducks, geese, even pigs seemed to be roaming
at will. Other animals, mostly dogs it appeared, were
cooped up in cages placed in no visible pattern around
the area. Several dogs were tied to stakes sunk into
the ground. The din was terrible.
The main house was in a decrepit state. Shutters hung
by one hinge where there were any left. Practically all
the paint had peeled from the clapboard sides, and the
roof showed many barren patches were shingles had been
lost and never replaced. Shades were drawn over all the
windows.
"You go see your friend," Helen proposed, jumping out
of the car. "I'm going to look around."
We had parked next to several vehicles already there.
One, a battered pickup, bore the name of a garage in
Fort Worth. I stepped out of the car and watched Helen
trudge up past some of the cages, then went up the
steps to the porch and rang the doorbell.
When I had not had any response for some minutes, I
knocked on the door thinking that the doorbell probably
did not work.
The door opened quickly, and I beheld a man in the
dimly lighted hallway inside. He was dressed in a
crumpled suit and asked me to please come inside.
He led me into what must have been the parlor where he
offered me a seat and a cup of coffee. I accepted both.
He poured the coffee from a silver pot and asked me if
I would like it braced with some cognac.
I declined the brandy but complimented him on his
service.
"Thank you, Miss Starr," he returned. "I presume?"
I smiled acknowledgment and looked my host over. He was
a slight man, graying, and probably in his late
fifties. He evinced a delicacy that didn't seem to fit
his surroundings.
"There are a million and one stories here for your
magazine," he revealed. "Every animal has a story to
tell, don't you agree?" he asked.
"Perhaps we mightn't keep them around if they could
tell it," I suggested.
He glanced at my face oddly. "What a strange thought!
Ah, but you're thinking about the ponies," it occurred
to him quickly.
"Mr. Felt," I said, leaning forward in my chair, "Joe
Cunningham has sworn to me he sold you four ponies over
the past two years. If, as you say, you have only one
pony now, I am curious about what happened to the
others."
"My dear," he began, "curiosity in you is a virtue I
admire. I do not have to tell you, you realize, what
you want to know, but I can say at least that they have
died."
"Died?" I asked. "All of them? How?"
"What does it matter how?" He inquired. "Death comes to
everything sooner or later."
"It doesn't always have to come sooner," I commented.
"Perhaps," he said.
"Mr. Felt," I began a new tack, "You strike me somehow
as out of place here. I understand you own a garage in
the city, too. None of it fits as far as I can see."
"It's true," he admitted, "I'm no farmer. You can see
that outside. The fields are rented out to those who
like that sort of thing. As to the garage, it is
operated on a lease basis by someone else. All of these
things," he opened his palms, "are just an inheritance
I haven't had the heart to sell."
"Then how do you explain that truck outside?" I
inquired.
"A private matter, Miss Starr, a private matter," he
asserted. "Nothing to do with the business of the
garage, I assure you. But why should that be of concern
to you?"
"Mr. Felt," I said, "do you know a Jack Smallwood?"
"Why, yes," he replied, becoming more and more
disconcerted by my interrogation. "Only casually."
"I have. reason to believe Mr. Smallwood stole a
valuable dog recently and that you have possession of
that dog right at this moment." I had not minced my
words.
His hands twisted in his lap. He appeared to become
more agitated.
He stood up at once. "My dear girl, what are you
saying?" He appeared flustered. "Come with me at once,"
he requested.
I followed him out of the room. He unlocked a door and
led down a flight of stairs to another door at the
bottom which he unlocked also. After that we entered a
damp enclosure that was evidently a little used portion
of the basement.
At one end of the damp area we entered what appeared to
be a small arena or theater in the round. The seats
were arranged around a small platform on which was a
bed and an few straight-backed wooden chairs.
We passed through the theater area to another door that
led to dressing rooms and a lounge. A man and two women
were sitting around drinking and talking. The man stood
up when he saw us come in.
"Elbie," Felt addressed the man. "Bring the collie out
here."
The man put his drink down and walked back to a rear
door. The two girls, who looked suspiciously like
prostitutes, ogled me curiously. Moments later the man
returned with a collie held by a leash. I recognized
Clyde at once.
"Clyde!" I called.
His ears perked up and seeing me broke away from his
holder and bounded in my direction.
"Clyde, you old rascal," I blurted out, hugging at him.
He licked at my face and started humping at my leg in
the excitement. The man and the two women laughed
abruptly.
"Maybe we can use her in the show, Felt?" the man
suggested.
"I had no idea this dog was taken from anybody," Felt
confessed to me. "Believe me." He seemed sincere. "I
have private shows here in the evenings," he went on,
"shows in which we use animals in, let us say, erotic
situations with our actors."
The others seemed amused by Felt's choice of words.
"This collie was brought to me by Mr. Smallwood, who
had heard about the entertainment I provide and thought
I might be interested. He took no money for him. He
told me he was his dog and that he could not take care
of him anymore." He paused.
"What else did he tell you about him?" I asked.
"Else? Why he said the dog was a natural born actor,"
Felt hedged.
"What kind of an actor?" I insisted. "I want to know
exactly what he said."
Felt looked embarrassed. "He said the dog liked to, uh,
do it to girls."
"He does, too, lady," Elbie piped up. "He don't need
drugs, either."
"Drugs?" I asked.
"Yes, does that surprise you?" Felt wanted to know.
"Do you drug the animals in your shows?" I wondered.
"Most of them will not perform unless they are
drugged," Felt revealed. "This collie is a grand
exception. One in a million."
As well I knew. I patted Clyde on his shoulder and
thought about Helen.
"Drugs ain't good for them, He's lucky," Elbie chimed
in again.
"Is that what happened to the ponies?" I asked Felt.
"It's a tough life for all of us, Miss Starr," he
volunteered rather gratuitously.
"But what a way to go!" Elbie exclaimed.
The two girls giggled. One of them, who had been eyeing
me during the conversation, winked. I had no
explanation for it but the wink sent a hot flash
through my body. Furious, I glared back at her.
"I must get my sister," I said. "She's outside waiting
for me. I assume you are going to let me take the dog,"
I asked Felt.
"What can I say?" He smiled, throwing up his hands.
"Come by some night and see the show, and bring your
Clyde," he urged. "We invite audience participation at
all times."
I left them laughing. Felt insisted on accompanying me
back up through the house.
"Remember what I said," he reminded me at the door.
"And no hard feelings?" he wanted to know.
My feelings are my own so I said: "Am I going to report
the theft to the police? Is that what you want to know?
The dog belongs to my sister. It was her husband who
took it. Need I say more?"
He seemed astonished, and I left him in that condition.
I found Helen, or rather Clyde found Helen poking
around inside a hen house looking for fresh eggs. She
forgot about eggs when she saw Clyde and fell into him
with joy.
"Oh, Clyde, honey," she cried deliriously, her eyes
filled with tears. The dog was humping at her legs, but
Helen paid no attention. "I'm so glad, so glad," she
repeated burying her face in his fur. "My baby's back,
my Clyde baby's back!"
Clyde kept humping at her excitedly, his pink organ
inching its way out slowly. He licked at her face and
began to whine.
"Oh, Bea," she pleaded. "I can't wait I'm so hot for
him. Stand at the door, will you, honey?" Her eyes
were all soft and moist. I could see the longing in
them.
She stepped back into the chicken coop and put her
purse on the floor. She pulled her pants down as best
she could with Clyde clambering all over her and got
down on her hands and knees in the straw.
Clyde mounted her insanely, humping at her rear end
like a frenzied creature. The wet looking penis was way
out and jabbed forward missing the right spot on every
thrust. It poked, it slid off to the side, it almost
bent in a right angle to itself when it struck one of
her buttocks.
Suddenly it slapped into the right spot and dug in
deep. Clyde changed his frenzied humping to a kind of
close in ramming. He was humped up with his haunches as
close as he could maneuver and in an effort to dig
deeper lifted one rear leg off the floor, set it down,
then lifted the other, rocking from side to side.
He was panting madly, the pants coming in short, tight
huffs. They began to lower in register until they
became almost inaudible. He was just about to come, I
thought.
I heard a groan escape Helen's lips, and she pitched
forward, the dog falling with her.
Clyde got up right away and stood alongside her,
panting as though it were the hottest day of the year.
I could see his meat bent clear around still anchored
into her hole. It resembled an umbilical cord twisting
out in that strange way.
The dog was too interested in getting its wind back to
try breaking the union at once. Helen, too, was down in
the hay, out of this world and into some seventh
heaven. She relaxed abruptly, and I saw the twisted
dong come grooving out.
Immediately behind it a big blob of white come welled
up and blocked the entrance to her vagina. Helen
shifted slightly, and the come slowly oozed back inside
the hole. She turned and sat up.
"Where are my panties?" she inquired, the picture of
contentment.
Clyde was over in a corner licking carefully at his
member. I handed Helen's panties to her, and she stood
up to put them back on.
"Got a Kleenex or something?" she asked me.
I searched through my bag and handed her a couple. She
took them and folded them, then placed them down inside
her underpants covering the vulva.
"If I don't do that, I'll drip all over the place," she
averred.
She reached down for her purse and we walked out to the
car, Clyde trotting after us.
"You drive, Bea," she said. "I'm just too up to think
about driving. Do you mind?" she asked me.
I didn't mind at all and told her so. We were soon
barreling down the dirt road homeward bound. Clyde kept
poking his head forward over the front seat between us
and demanding little pats of attention from Helen. She
was only too willing to oblige him.
"We'll have to have it out with Jack tonight," Helen
remarked. "I take it you found out he knows."
I told her about Felt's little theater group and
Clyde's natural acting ability.
She hugged the dog's head affectionately. "I wonder how
many times he performed in the last few days." She
stared straight ahead out the windshield. "It's like
Jack to have taken Clyde there. Don't you see the
humor in it? He could have disposed of the dog
anywhere, but he didn't."
She was milking something out of the situation that was
flattering to her husband.
"He's going to wonder how in the hell we ever found
that place," Helen said, laughing at the series of
events that had found him out.
"Put the blame on me, if you want," I told her. "He
will be only too glad to jump on me. We haven't had our
usual blowoff this visit yet, anyway," I said.
She reached over and put her hand on my thigh. "Bea, I
know how upset you were this morning. You wouldn't have
said anything about Jack otherwise. Iım glad that you
told me, though. I want you to know that. I want you to
know, too, that I still love you better than anybody."
I took my right hand off the wheel and placed it on top
of hers.
Chapter 8
Jack had been furious.
He had stormed out of the house swearing never to come
back. Before that he had threatened to shoot the dog,
shoot the pony, carve me up into strips of bacon. His
ultimatum before leaving was, no dog, no pony, and no
sister. Until then, goodbye!
Out he went into the night.
Helen was speechless. She had not been able to get a
word in edgewise while Jack was there and after he had
gone could not find the words. I was at a loss as to
how to console her.
There was no doubt that I was going to leave on Sunday.
I had planned to be back on the job Monday morning.
There was no doubt we were going to return the pony
that morning. There remained the presence of Clyde.
"Has he ever done this before?" I had asked Helen.
"Yes," she had admitted. "When he does, he usually
means it and stays away for one night, anyway. I try to
think of it as just another business trip."
"Where does he go?"
"He has friends all over, drinking buddies, who knows?"
She had thrown up her hands. "I guess I will have to
give Clyde up, after all," she had said in resignation.
We had sat through dinner quietly, feeling the
consciousness of Jack's absence. Helen had shut Clyde
in the basement not to please an absent husband, but to
remove from her sight the tangible evidence of their
conflict.
After dinner I had begun to expect that John might
telephone. Not that I had been anxious for him to
call. It had just seemed a likely expectation. When the
dishes had been done and the kitchen cleaned up, I had
begun to feel it a certainty.
When the hour had reached eight-thirty or so and he had
not called, my ego had been severely bruised. I had
thought then of telephoning him, but wouldn't that have
been playing his game? I had decided against it.
Helen had tried to escape her problem by watching
television. That had never worked for me, and soon she
had come back into the living room herself.
"I can't enjoy the thing unless I'm completely
relaxed," she had said. She had sat down, and observed
my own tension, thinking, probably guessing the truth,
that I had had John on my mind, but guessing wrong what
it was about John that had been bothering me.
"A girl like Pat, now, whom Iıll probably never get to
meet, what's the big difference between us?" I had
asked Helen. "She paints, she willingly puts off her
marriage to care for a sick mother, she leaves John on
his own for six months. That's about all I know about
her," I had said.
"It adds up to an unusual girl these days," Helen had
remarked.
"I wish I had some time to look at those paintings.
Some were his and some were hers, you know. You can
tell from a painting how the artist sees things. The
better his technique, the easier it is to see what he's
left out. If John were to do a portrait of me, I could
tell how he sees me by what he's discarded."
Helen had looked at me and smiled.
"It's true, Sis," I had insisted. "When you look at
yourself in the mirror, you see an awful lot of junk.
You think it's all important, down to the last hair out
of place. You can't be selective about yourself, so you
never really know how you see yourself."
The doorbell had rung then. Helen had jumped up, her
lips forming the name Jack questioningly. She had gone
to the door and I had heard the voice of a woman.
It had turned out to be a local friend of Helen's a
Mary Parker.
Soon we had mixed some highballs and were gradually
relaxing as the liquor began numbing our brains,
pushing aside the problems-of the day.
Mary, a divorcee, had just returned from a trip to
Acapulco, and had been anxious to tell all to my sister
concerning her vacation.
"It's not the romantic place I used to think it was,"
she had said. "Every accountant from New York must have
been there with his secretary, and the college bums,
yi! Who needs it?"
I had argued that the water and the climate must still
be unspoiled, and she had agreed.
"How's Clyde?" she had asked suddenly.
Helen had stolen a quick look at me. "My sister knows
about Clyde, Mary," she had said.
"Really!" She had exclaimed, her face lighting up. "How
groovy!" She had quivered her rear end in a jello-like
shake on the seat, a little movement she was to repeat
throughout her visit. "Let me tell you about this
place in Mexico, then."
She had begun then to tell of a visit to a place
outside Cuernavaca where she and the girl accompanying
her on the trip had stayed overnight.
"We had reservations in Taxco, but couldn't make it
because we had stayed too late in Cuernavaca. We
decided to take the first thing that came alone, so,"
she had said, "we kept our eyes open for a likely
looking hacienda or something."
"It started to get dark all of a sudden, and we sort of
got that panicky feeling." She had giggled. "We didn't
know what was going to happen if we had to sleep in the
car. Finally we spotted something, a plain old two-
storey adobe house, nothing more. I said to Jane, let's
ask anyway, and she agreed. It turned out to be a
private house, but they offered us a room downstairs in
the back if we wanted it."
"Well, we took one look and guess what? It's like a
combination stable and sleeping porch. Two cots along
one wall separated by a short rail from a manger for
burros. And there were burros in there, let me tell
you, in spades. You know how everywhere you go outside
the cities smells like tortilla flour. You get kind of
used to it after a while. Well, this was different. We
didn't know if we were going to be able to take it. All
night, no less!"
"We finally said, screw it, and flopped down on those
cots, smelly donkeys and all. We hadn't been in bed
long when the old guy in the place, the grandfather I
guess, comes padding in with a bottle of tequila and
some limes."
"Ola, he says, Chiquitas, Mira, Mira! He gets out some
glasses and pulls up a little table by the beds. He
pours a little in each glass, cuts the limes, and
passes the salt around. Well, you know me, Helen. I
always think the guy wants to end up in bed with me,
but I wasn't sure with this old abuelo. He sits there
rattling off in Spanish, sipping his joy juice and
sucking at his wrist. Jane keeps looking at me for cues
like, what do you say to that, or what do I do now?"
"We relaxed after a while. The tequila we were drinking
helped. I get to the point where I start glowing and I
think well maybe the old guy in bed would be a novelty
if he has any meat between his legs. But that's not
what the old man is thinking. Turns out he just wanted
somebody to drink with. Pretty soon he says Buenos
notches and picks up his marbles.
Well, there we were, in bed with a tequila glow and no
companeros. I'm pretty sure Jane feels the same way I
do. What do we do now, she says to me. We just sat
there, Helen, looking at all those burros, hotter than
hell."
"All of a sudden one of those animals starts getting a
hard-on. Have you ever seen a burro hard? The damn
thing must be as long as from my elbow to my
fingertips. And thick! Like a firehose! Jane and I just
sat up on those cots and stared. There must have been
three or four coming out in that herd anytime you cared
to look. They would come out, wave around a bit, then
whap! bang up against the belly and start shriveling
up."
"Jane says, Do you think you could get one of them to
go inside of you? I said I'd had a lot of meat shoved
into me in my time, but that's stretching it a bit. She
says, let's try it, anyway. We got out of bed and went
over to the gate in the fence. Jane says, there's a
good one, and sure enough I see the little guy
beginning to come out in a big way. We coax him through
the gate and pretty soon we have him all to ourselves."
"How shall we do this, I ask Jane, and she says try it
doggy style. I said, here goes, and lifted up my
nightie. I got down on the floor, and Jane walks the
donkey over to me until I felt that thing popping at my
pussy. You ever have a real big one go pom-pom at it?"
"I spread myself as wide as I could because I figured a
boxing glove like that is going to want punching room.
I said to Jane, you coax him forward while I move
backward at the same time. She does and I did. Wow! I
thought I was being split wide open. The head on that
thing just about tore me up. After it cleared, though,
the rest of it ran up in pretty fast without much
strain. I thought it would never stop, as a matter of
fact. I had been filled with a longie, I knew, but I
couldn't see just how much of it I really had."
"Jane said, you'll have to raise your ass up and put
your head down on the floor. She said, because of the
angle, his meat was bending, and it didn't look like
the rest of it could go in. I did what she suggested
and felt the rest of it slip into me. Something heavy
bumped my legs, almost pushing me forward. I asked Jane
what it was and she says the donkey's balls just
slammed against you. I knew then there couldn't
possibly be any more left that hadn't gone in."
"What do we do now, Jane says. Get him to pump, I said.
How, she asks. I don't know, I said. Give him a whiff
of your pussy. All right, she says, and bends down in
front of him, raising up her nightie.
I could see it all. The burro goes after it like a
carrot. He lifts his front legs and tries to climb up
Jane's back. In the meantime, I could feel him
stretching out inside a little bit."
"Turn around, I yelled to Jane. Turn around and try to
hold his front hooves off the ground. She does and the
angle of the thing feels perfect inside me. He starts
pumping then and I could feel the juices working in
there. If Jane could hold him, he would do just fine.
As for me, I was finally getting the big F. He dug down
into me, jamming away at it. I could feel it swelling
and stretching. That big head was deep in there reaming
out those neglected, far away places. I knew it."
"All I could think of was a big sign they used to have
on a water truck in my home town that said Filled to
Capacity. That was me, Helen. For the first time in my
life I really felt packed solid. Those testicles kept
bumping my thighs like flour sacks. I figured on
bruises there by next morning. I wasn't going to worry
about it then, however. The burro began to bray
compulsively and I thought, now, he's going to let go.
I yelled to Jane to hold on, and waited for it to come.
The animal shuddered violently and drove down into me
hard, and then slowly tapered off."
"I felt that warm glow inside suddenly and the pressure
building up. The load these animals expend must be
prodigious. It had no place to go but out. It burst out
around the sides in big, bubbly farting sounds,
splattering all across my rear and running down my
legs. I could feel the stuff forming pools in the
little depressions behind my kneecaps."
"I came then myself, grabbing Jane's legs for support.
It came over me in wrenching waves that convulsed me
forward toward her. I moaned uncontrollably, unable to
stem the tide of pleasure that was almost unbearable. I
finally collapsed on the floor, limply. The last thing
I felt was that organ slithering out of me."
"Gosh," Helen had said. "It sounds better than with the
pony."
"Pony? You have a pony?" She had wanted to know.
Helen, of course, had told her everything then. She had
been eager to know if we still had it, and where she
might be able to get one for herself.
Before long they had brought the pony in from the yard
and were getting undressed. Mary had been dying to try
it since being told. Mary's story had left me exhausted
and I had begged leave to retire early. Since the two
of them had been good friends, I hadn't felt I was
deserting.
I had gone back to my bedroom. I had felt very, very
tired, and had fallen asleep very quickly.
I awoke with a feeling of disappointment inside me. I
was aware of my surroundings as wrong, in error, and
felt that if I waited a second or two, they would turn
into the correct ones.
They remained the same.
I lay in bed thinking what had started out as a good
prospect of companionship had been demolished by my own
fear of commitment. I had to be myself, fears and all,
in spite of what happened. That was the way it had
always been with me.
I got up out of bed and walked over to the clothes
closet. I took my robe off and stared at myself in the
full length mirror. It isn't worth it, I thought. It
isn't worth the hassle. Every time I had let myself
fall, it was the same old story.
I decided I was not going to eat my heart out over
anybody. Let somebody eat his heart out over me, if
that's the way it had to be.
There were plenty of Hack Raver's around, and if I did
not want it that way particularly, there was always Joe
Cunningham, or maybe the answer was a good old
comfortable collie like Clyde. Was I leaving something
out?
I was still young, only twenty-eight, and what's more,
I looked good. There was nothing to criticize about the
reflection I saw in the mirror.
It wasn't the reflection that counted. It was what was
inside my brain. What was in there that I could not
see? What memories of dreams were stored in those cells
that I had never been permitted to remember?
Once in New York City I had gone to see the ballet. A
particular prima ballerina had done a dance so
exquisitely well it had sent chills up and down my
spine. I had turned my head at that moment and had
noticed the person seated on my right, a young girl of
about sixteen, had been similarly affected.
Our eyes had met at the same instant, and she had
gasped. Her hand had suddenly hesitatingly reached over
and touched mine for a few seconds.
We hadn't spoken then or later. In fact, our eyes had
not met again, and after the performance, I never saw
her again.
The color of her eyes had never been erased from my
memory. A recurring dream I was to recall upon
awakening had had to do with it.
I am standing on a diving board about to dive into a
swimming pool. Around the pool are many people, some of
whom I recognize, some whom I do not. They are both men
and women. Some of the men stare at me with sober
faces, other men are jeering at me.
Still other men, naked, are holding their penises and
wagging them at me. All of the women are smiling at me
warmly. I dive, finally. Suddenly the water changes to
the color of the young girl's eyes, and I actually fall
into one of her eyes.
I keep falling. The color is all around me. I begin to
fear I am drowning and wake up.
Standing there in front of the mirror, I thought about
the dream and its meaning. It occurred to me that the
sadness that gripped at me periodically I had first
felt at that performance. It occurred just as the young
girl had finally passed from my view forever, during my
last impression of her, from the rear, of the ponytail,
the camel's hair coat, the lithe calves, the loafers.
What was the meaning of the experience?
I dressed slowly, sadly, putting on a blouse and skirt.
Definitely I decided on flats. The weather had turned
cooler, and I took the short length light brown suede
leather coat I had brought along out of the closet.
The coat fit snugly and tied with a belt. It flattered
my figure and I looked expensive. It was one of the few
articles of clothing I owned which I considered a
prized possession.
Helen was waiting for me in the living room. She was
petting the pony lovingly.
"I guess we can safely say we enjoyed your visit,
pony," she said to him, patting him on both sides of
his head. "I'm going to miss you, you know."
"That's nothing compared to what he is going to be
missing," I said.
"That's right," she giggled. "What about that? What do
you suppose he will act like when he gets to someone
else's house?"
"I can see the headlines. Woman Raped in Backyard by
Pet Pony. Wild, huh?"
"Then you'd have to write it up in Pet World."
"Actually what will happen is Cunningham will keep him
there for stud," I said, "or have him gelded."
"You mean he will actually cut those big things off"
she asked. "Does the pony ever want to do it
afterward?" she wondered.
"If they are cut proud, in other words, castrated after
they have reached maturity, I understand they still
want to do it, but whether they actually can or not, I
don't know."
"This pony is certainly mature, wouldn't you say?"
I laughed. "No question. Maybe a little too much so,
Remember what Cunningham said?"
"The pony would get all excited when we had our
periods," she recalled.
"He certainly didn't wait for that," I asserted.
"It was because we gave him a little help, wasn't it?"
she chortled. "Shall we have one last one?" she
proposed.
"Come on, Sis," I said, leading the pony toward the
front door. "We're going to need all the energy we can
save."
We got the pony in on the back seat and drove away. The
way to Denton looked familiar this time and didn't seem
quite as long a trip as it had the first time. Some
first touches of fall appeared here and there in the
north Texas countryside, reminders to me that fall was
already cold up North.
The Ho-Ho-Pony Farm looked just as deserted as it had
on our first visit. Even more so. There was no Hack
Raver standing in the compound to greet us.
"Why, where's Mr. Raver?" Helen wondered after we had
gotten out of the car.
"Try the hayloft," I suggested.
Helen looked at me oddly. "Now, why there, for heaven's
sake?" I could see the puzzlement still on her face.
"Does he, pitch a lot of hay?" she asked.
"No," I answered, "but he pitches a lot of woo."
She threw up her hands. "You're impossible today.
What's eating you? It's about John Young, isn't it?
You're still mad because he made love to me." She
softened her tone came close to me. "Sweets, if you had
only said something. You know it would have been
strictly hands off if I had known."
"Itıs not just that, sis," I said, patting her hand.
"It's mostly a lot of other junk. Iıve really gotten
over that night, really," I said. "Just bear with me.
I'll be all right."
We strolled around the compound together poking our
noses into sheds and barns here and there as curiosity
dictated. As on our previous visit, a strange quiet
prevailed throughout most of the area, as if the
regular work of the farm was taking place somewhere
else miles away.
Far down at the south end of the compound we came upon
what looked like a sheep shed. The ramps and pens were
set up for running sheep through a water system and
prepping them for shearing. A few sick-looking sheep
were penned up. The others, we concluded, were probably
out to pasture.
As we walked down around one side of the sheep shed, we
heard what sounded like human voices coming from an
enclosed area. Occasionally the human sounds were
overlaid with the obvious bleating of sheep.
We stepped up close to the side of the building and the
voices grew louder. There was an argument of some kind
going on inside, but the voices were still too
indistinct to make out too many words.
I looked around for a door but seemed to find only
windows on the structure. I was standing there puzzled
when Helen motioned me over to her. She was standing by
a sheep pen at the end of the shack.
She pointed to a flight of concrete steps leading down
into the basement of the building. To get to the steps
required walking inside the building where the shearing
was done, but that did not seem to pose a real problem.
The worst that could happen was getting our shoes
dirty.
We picked our way through the shearing area. Sheep dip
was everywhere but most of it had dried. It was hard to
believe that better sanitary conditions could not have
prevailed. Since slaughtering was not involved there,
it was probable no strict sanitary code affected the
operation.
We reached the top of the steps without mishap. Helen
had reached out to grab a board at one point and had
picked up what looked like birdshit on her hand. She
wiped it on a clean patch of concrete.
Carefully, we stepped down into the basement well. The
door at the bottom opened easily, and we found
ourselves in a storage area.
Shushing one another in an effort to be very quiet, we
walked back into the basement. The voices were above us
now, and we could hear the tramp of boots across the
floor along with the other sounds.
We reached another staircase, this one leading to the
upper floor, and carefully ascended. A door at the top
opened easily and we found ourselves in a corridor
hemmed in on both sides by a heavy wire mesh partition.
The voices came from behind the partition on the right
side. We tiptoed along the corridor to a point where
we could see clearly through the wire mesh the scene
that had been our ultimate destination since first
hearing the voices.
Four boys, in their middle teens, obviously farmhands,
were in the room along with several sheep. One tall boy
wore a Montana cowboy's hat and western riding boots.
The other three were hatless and wore conventional
workboots. All wore levis and denim jackets.
I noticed another pair of boots out in the middle of
the floor, side by side. It seemed strange to see them
there so obviously in the center of the room and in the
way, yet judging from the attention of the boys,
somehow important to what was going on.
The tall boy's name we picked up as Montie, and he was
doing most of the talking.
"Shit, now," he said. "We ruined a good pair of fuckin'
boots for this, and you gotta change your mind."
"Aw, Montie, his old man told him sheep is where VD
comes from," one of the other boys said.
"You mean you told your old man you was gonna fuck some
sheep?" Montie asked the boy, "Billy, you actually told
him you was gonna do it?"
Naw, Montie," the other boy came in. "He told his old
man he knew of some kid in Denison who did it. He made
like it wasn't gonna be him at all."
"Tex is right, Montie," Billy piped up. "I put it to
him like that. I ain't never fucked nothin' before, and
I got like uptight."
"Well, if you're that uptight, put on a rubber. Course
I figure a man's uptight about a little ol' sheep, he
ain't never gonna get up nerve to fuck a woman, right
Glenbo?"
Billy was squirming. They were reaching him, and he did
not seem to know where to turn.
"Well, why do I have to be the only one?" Billy
protested. "If it's all that good, why don't one of you
guys want to do it too?"
"ıCause we already fucked one, man. Me, Tex, and Glenbo
already been initiated, right, guys?" Montie asked
around.
"Seems dumb, if it's all that good, just to fuck it
once," Billy allowed.
"Man, you think anyone wants to be a sheepfucker all
his life?" Montie asked him. "You want to spend your
whole life fuckin' sheep?"
"Come on, Billy," Glenbo urged him. "It ain't so bad."
"Yeah, Bill," Tex agreed. "Get it over with. You gotta
do it. Them's the rules. You knowed that when you
joined up."
"Well," Billy faltered, "you sure Raver ain't gonna
come poking his nose back here?"
"Bill," Tex said, "I told you Raver's in Dallas, and
Uncle Joe don't care about nothin' but them ponies."
"And eatin' pussy," Glenbo chimed in.
"Fetch me one of them sheep," Montie told Glenbo. The
boy chased one of the roly-poly animals back into
another room and came out moments later dragging the
reluctant animal by the front legs.
"Give it here," Montie ordered.
He took the animal and placed its hind legs inside the
boots on the floor. The animal tried to move forward
but could not move its hind legs. I realized then the
boots must be nailed to the floor. The animal bleated
in fear.
The boy called Tex dropped a cushion on the floor
behind the boots. "Okay, Billy boy," he said.
"Your Move," Montie said to Billy.
Billy knelt there for several moments, apparently
unsure of his next move.
"Nice day," said Montie, feigning a patient air.
"C'mon, Bill," Tex urged.
"What do you do first?" Billy asked, as if stalling for
time to think.
"Man, you take your cock and stick it in that little
ol' hole right there," Montie said, pointing to the
sheep's pulsating vagina.
"Look at that," Helen whispered to me. "It almost looks
like a girl's."
"Shh!" I cautioned her.
Billy bent over and unbuttoned his fly.
"Naw, Bill," Tex interrupted. "Take the whole fuckin'
thing-off. Otherwise you're liable to get sheepshit and
whatever on your levis. No telling what these sheep'll
do while you're fuckin' them."
"Montie knows a guy in Oklahoma got a wet sheepfart
right in the face once, don't you, Montie?" Glenbo
asked him.
"That ol' sheep got so excited he didn't know if it was
fuckin' time or shittin' time," Montie averred.
Billy had pulled his levis and underwear down below his
knees. His meat hung limply in a flaccid state. "Don't
see how I'm gonna do it. I ain't hard," he said.
"You can get it up," Tex assured him.
"Jack it a couple of times," Glenbo suggested.
Billy spit on his palm and started whacking at the dead
organ. It swelled out a little bit and got red, but
didn't harden.
"Keep it up, man," Montie urged.
"Maybe he needs a cunt to look at," Glenbo said.
"What the hell do you think that is?" Montie snorted.
"He means a real pussy, Montie," said Tex.
"Come on, Billy, jerk that thing harder," Montie
insisted. "Ain't you never jerked oft?"
Billy worked hard at the organ. It finally reached some
semblance of an erection, but was far from completely
rigid. It would have been a good-sized organ fully
hard, but lacking those last few inches, it seemed a
pale imitation of its full potential.
He leaned forward on the cushion and pushed his raw
penis into the dripping gash. It oozed inside in spite
of its flexibility. The sheep responded by bleating
excitedly and pushing outward with the sphincter
muscles controlling its opening.
"Feels good," Billy announced, surprised with delight.
The others laughed out loud.
"Well, move it in and out, Billy Boy," Montie urged.
Billy began to pump back and forth at the sheep's rear
end. "Oh, man!" he exclaimed. "That's good. Does a
woman feel that good?" he asked no one in particular.
"Better," Tex assured him.
He was driving furiously into the animal now. His full
erection must have finally developed inside the vagina.
I could see that the shaft, when I was able to get a
glimpse of it, was much fatter than before.
He let out two short cries of pleasure suddenly and
fell across the animal's back. The others applauded his
performance.
"Well done, Bill," Tex cried.
"Hey," I whispered to Helen, "Let's get out of here
before they discover us. They're all through now."
For a moment she didn't respond.
She nodded her head in agreement, and we tiptoed back
along the corridor to the stairway.
Outside in the sun again Helen was asking me questions.
"Do all young boys experiment with animals that way?"
she asked me.
"I suppose the ones that grow up on farms do," I told
her. "Farms where there are sheep."
"What's so special about sheep?"
"Well, you saw," I reminded her. "I think the body oils
and fluids are similar to a human's."
"I wonder what the sheep thought about it," she said.
We walked down to the farmhouse hoping to find
Cunningham now that we knew Raver was out of town. We
rang the bell several times before he finally emerged.
He seemed pleased as could be when he saw us.
"Did you come to return the pony or did you have
something else in mind?" he asked.
"What else is there?" Helen asked him.
He glanced at me and seemed disappointed Helen did not
understand his remark. I had put off telling her about
his famous room. I had meant to tell her the night we
brought the pony home, but Clyde's disappearance had
become the major topic of discussion that evening, and
I subsequently lost immediate interest in talking about
the strange incident.
We walked to the car and let the pony out. Cunningham
remarked that he was still a stunning animal. Helen
wanted to know if he was going to geld the animal.
"Don't think so," he said. "If he proves a good stud,
throws true, I'd be foolish."
"I'm so glad," Helen said, "I hope he throws true, as
you say."
Cunningham looked puzzled. "First time I ever heard a
lady choke up over cutting a pony. It don't hurt them
more than a scratch might," he assured Helen.
"I wasn't thinking about that," she told him. "I was
thinking about all the fun he would miss."
Cunningham looked her up and down. "How about that,
Miss Starr," he said to me. "Your sister's a real
winner."
He had a habit of fixing his stare on a person, and not
letting any change in the conversation sway him from
the object of his gaze. He was wrapped up now in
Helen's pelvic region. She had not worn hot pants this
time, but the skirt she had chosen did an even better
job.
I knew what Cunningham hoped for more than anything
else in the world, and I had a feeling with Raver out
of the way, he might just realize it.
We walked the pony back into one of the stalls in the
barn where Cunningham tied the animal in place and
filled the feed bucket. Helen had wandered a few stalls
down and Cunningham sidled up to me.
"You haven't told your sister about the Victorian Room,
have you?" he asked.
The End
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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 48