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 animal's 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 Œno'," 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 she'll 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 Pat's."

"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.