Charles Richards - A Kingdom Of Love

Her head tucked between the ropes while Oliver resumed his thrusts.

The ewe's twat was elastic and hot around Oliver's stubby joint. As he stroked, it pulled on his foreskin like a suction cup. Both the men and the animal were grunting and too far out of whip range for Myrna to flick.

Lazily she considered whether or not to enter the pen and nick little fleshpots from Oliver's ass with the whip. But she tried not to be cruel to any beast. So, instead she put the thought away and leaned on the gate to watch.

Joan awoke with a start from where she slept curled like a kitten in the crook of Justice's arm. She listened tensely for some sign of what had awakened her, while Justice groaned in his sleep and rolled away from her tension.

There it is again, she thought when the sound of the squawking ewe reached her ears from the direction of the animal tent.

Like a cat she slipped silently to her feet and rubbed her eyes to adjust them from the glow of sleep to the dark night. Then treading with her lightest step she slipped through the night toward the source of the noise. She was the huntress again, and so caught up in the role of a stalking cat was she that she crept off and forgot the room key still clutched in Justice's sleeping hand.

She paused for a moment when she became aware of the cool night air on the swath of her exposed skin. She quietly zipped the leotards back together and the white flesh disappeared with only the slightest of whispers. Then she resumed her quiet stalking of the sounds that had awakened her.

She followed stealthily past the tiers of seats and into the hallway to the animal tent. She crept along in the deepest shadows with all her senses alert and like a leopard did not make a sound.

The grunting increased and she began to suspect that both a human and an animal were responsible for it. As she drew closer she saw the leather-clad figure of Myrna Westmore leaning against the corral fence.

Not wishing to be discovered sneaking about silently, Joan changed her tack. She stepped out of the shadows boldly, being sure to scrape her feet for the noise and approached the apparently enraptured Myrna with a firm step.

As she drew within a few feet of Myrna, the woman's voice suddenly cracked like a whip. "You could have come silently, Joan. I've known you were coming for some time now!"

"You think you always know, don't you?" Joan said reaching the gate.

"You said something very much like that this morning when you found me in the main tent. Did you arrange this show for my benefit?"

"Let's say in response to the brown nosing you were doing with Justice earlier…" Joan eyed the white globes of Oliver's fat ass as they bobbed gelatinously in the dim light.

"What's that-a ewe-he's with? And who is it anyway?"

"Oliver Oates, my dear, the circus manager. And to answer your first question: yes, it is a ewe."

Myrna's voice dropped into a matter-of-fact, friendly tone as she continued, "He was too busy to see you today. You'll meet shortly, though, I'm sure. And now back to Justice, my dear. Another little something that didn't come to your attention today is that Justice is mine alone as long as he is with this circus." A dreamy light came into her eyes. "And I don't think he has any reason to complain." She licked her lips lasciviously.

Joan watched her with deliberate humor and mewed, "My, yes! He does taste good."

At first Myrna did not answer. All that could be heard was the cacophony of grunts and bawls from the fornicating couple in the corner of the pen.

With imperceptible slowness, her eyes seemed to fill with rage and Joan tried to imagine what Oliver and the ewe looked like through those angry eyes.

She could not. To her, they were simply an animal and a man engaged in the event of bestial sex. The union aroused heat in her loins while her mind became cool and stellar in its placid depths. The innocence she radiated in the face of Myrna's rage infuriated the woman to a new pitch. The cheshire expression on Joan's puss nearly made Myrna scream like one of her big savage cats. She would teach this little bitch!

"Think you're pretty good, don't you, pussycat?" Myrna snarled.

"When I want to be, just like everybody else." The cut was obvious and Joan left it to sink in as she continued coolly, "But I don't really wish to talk-I'd rather watch."

She turned on her words and gave her attention to the man and goat. No-ewe, she reminded herself, though what the difference it made she had not yet enough experience in her short life to comprehend.

Suddenly the enormity of her commitment to bestiality glared out of the pen at her and she was fascinated with the sight.

The bawling animal was like an overstuffed sheep dog, while the fat man's jolly buns bunched into her behind. In Joan's imagination she saw the two nutty putty mountains doing the soul shake behind the sheep and Joan squirmed with delight at the thought.

"Like to watch, do you?" Myrna drawled in Joan's ear. "All right. Come along with me."

Joan was fascinated by Oliver and the ewe and did not want to leave.

But then she shrugged and complied. After all, Myrna was turning their relationship into a battleground and there seemed to be nothing else she could do.

Myrna turned and stalked off with a suddenly tired Joan following. From Myrna's tone, what was coming had to be something lewd and Joan wondered whether or not it was all worth it. She was strangely dissatisfied with the whole affair. Bestiality seemed sordid when in the presence of Myrna and Joan did not like the change. Myrna seemed to make a special effort to be dislikeable at the outset of any exchange between the two of them. Joan wondered at the cause.

Amanda was not like that. Joan's mind ran over remembrances of Amanda: the secret, almost blushing smile that washed across her face as Prince fucked Joan and Amanda watched. She truly enjoyed the play. But not so, it seemed with Myrna. Myrna wanted to corrupt everything with hate.

Again Joan wondered what it was that Myrna wished to show her. She would try to make it ugly and Joan would fight to keep it pure. The stage was set.

Myrna emerged from the shadows, leading a pony behind her. The animal's coat was like steeldust in the dim light. And Joan could see a tired, woeful expression on his face.

"It's late to wake him up, isn't it?" she asked Myrna with concern.

The woman only smirked and shouldered her way past the girl, with the small horse trailing dutifully along.

Don't let her get your goat now, girl, Joan reminded herself to be cool. Quietly she joined the train of midnight figures in the rear.

Myrna led her back past Oliver and the ewe. Joan paused long enough to make out that the man must be cumming. Good! she thought triumphantly.

Myrna did not see.

But she did not stay long, as the pony's flank was already disappearing from view. She hurried to catch Up.

Myrna seemed to be headed for the center ring.

Joan wondered if Justice was still there and what he would do if Myrna found him. As they entered the ring she breathed a sigh of relief to note that he had gone. Then she remembered he still must have her key.

Myrna's whip swiftly cracked through the air and the pony trotted away in a widening circle. The whip snapped again and the pony's iron-shod hooves began a rhythmic clomp.

Joan was not sure, but she guessed he was a long-haired shetland. His tail stood behind him like a silver comb and streamed in a point to the long grey feathers floating along his flank. His white mane slapped the steeldust grey of his noble neck and his head turned his eye to follow Myrna's commands.

The whip cracked at his forelegs and he began a goose-step trot. Clip clop, clip clop went his hooves as he strutted proudly about the circus ring. Joan's heart went out to the horse: how beautiful he wag.