Unknown - Bea_s pony

"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.