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. I'll 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, where's 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."