Unknown - Bea_s pony

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 As his organ was withdrawn, the fat head inside momentarily resisted, stretching the lining out like so much taffy.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.

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.