Unknown - Bea_s pony

"Oh, Bea," she pleaded. "I can't wait I'm so hot for him. Stand at the door, will you, honey?" Her eyes were all soft and moist. I could see the longing in them.

She stepped back into the chicken coop and put her purse on the floor. She pulled her pants down as best she could with Clyde clambering all over her and got down on her hands and knees in the straw.

Clyde mounted her insanely, humping at her rear end like a frenzied creature. The wet looking penis was way out and jabbed forward missing the right spot on every thrust. It poked, it slid off to the side, it almost bent in a right angle to itself when it struck one of her buttocks.

Suddenly it slapped into the right spot and dug in deep. Clyde changed his frenzied humping to a kind of close in ramming. He was humped up with his haunches as close as he could maneuver and in an effort to dig deeper lifted one rear leg off the floor, set it down, then lifted the other, rocking from side to side.

He was panting madly, the pants coming in short, tight huffs. They began to lower in register until they became almost inaudible. He was just about to come, I thought.

I heard a groan escape Helen's lips, and she pitched forward, the dog falling with her.

Clyde got up right away and stood alongside her, panting as though it were the hottest day of the year. I could see his meat bent clear around still anchored into her hole. It resembled an umbilical cord twisting out in that strange way.

The dog was too interested in getting its wind back to try breaking the union at once. Helen, too, was down in the hay, out of this world and into some seventh heaven. She relaxed abruptly, and I saw the twisted dong come grooving out.

Immediately behind it a big blob of white come welled up and blocked the entrance to her vagina. Helen shifted slightly, and the come slowly oozed back inside the hole. She turned and sat up.

"Where are my panties?" she inquired, the picture of contentment.

Clyde was over in a corner licking carefully at his member. I handed Helen's panties to her, and she stood up to put them back on.

"Got a Kleenex or something?" she asked me.

I searched through my bag and handed her a couple. She took them and folded them, then placed them down inside her underpants covering the vulva.

"If I don't do that, I'll drip all over the place," she averred.

She reached down for her purse and we walked out to the car, Clyde trotting after us.

"You drive, Bea," she said. "I'm just too up to think about driving. Do you mind?" she asked me.

I didn't mind at all and told her so. We were soon barreling down the dirt road homeward bound. Clyde kept poking his head forward over the front seat between us and demanding little pats of attention from Helen. She was only too willing to oblige him.

"We'll have to have it out with Jack tonight," Helen remarked. "I take it you found out he knows."

I told her about Felt's little theater group and Clyde's natural acting ability.

She hugged the dog's head affectionately. "I wonder how many times he performed in the last few days." She stared straight ahead out the windshield. "It's like Jack to have taken Clyde there. Don't you see the humor in it? He could have disposed of the dog anywhere, but he didn't."

She was milking something out of the situation that was flattering to her husband.

"He's going to wonder how in the hell we ever found that place," Helen said, laughing at the series of events that had found him out.

"Put the blame on me, if you want," I told her. "He will be only too glad to jump on me. We haven't had our usual blowoff this visit yet, anyway," I said.

She reached over and put her hand on my thigh. "Bea, I know how upset you were this morning. You wouldn't have said anything about Jack otherwise. I'm glad that you told me, though. I want you to know that. I want you to know, too, that I still love you better than anybody."

I took my right hand off the wheel and placed it on top of hers.

Jack had been furious.

He had stormed out of the house swearing never to come back. Before that he had threatened to shoot the dog, shoot the pony, carve me up into strips of bacon. His ultimatum before leaving was, no dog, no pony, and no sister. Until then, goodbye!

Out he went into the night.

Helen was speechless. She had not been able to get a word in edgewise while Jack was there and after he had gone could not find the words. I was at a loss as to how to console her.

There was no doubt that I was going to leave on Sunday. I had planned to be back on the job Monday morning. There was no doubt we were going to return the pony that morning. There remained the presence of Clyde.

"Has he ever done this before?" I had asked Helen.

"Yes," she had admitted. "When he does, he usually means it and stays away for one night, anyway. I try to think of it as just another business trip."

"Where does he go?"

"He has friends all over, drinking buddies, who knows?" She had thrown up her hands. "I guess I will have to give Clyde up, after all," she had said in resignation.

We had sat through dinner quietly, feeling the consciousness of Jack's absence. Helen had shut Clyde in the basement not to please an absent husband, but to remove from her sight the tangible evidence of their conflict.

After dinner I had begun to expect that John might telephone. Not that I had been anxious for him to call. It had just seemed a likely expectation. When the dishes had been done and the kitchen cleaned up, I had begun to feel it a certainty.

When the hour had reached eight-thirty or so and he had not called, my ego had been severely bruised. I had thought then of telephoning him, but wouldn't that have been playing his game? I had decided against it.

Helen had tried to escape her problem by watching television. That had never worked for me, and soon she had come back into the living room herself.

"I can't enjoy the thing unless I'm completely relaxed," she had said. She had sat down, and observed my own tension, thinking, probably guessing the truth, that I had had John on my mind, but guessing wrong what it was about John that had been bothering me.

"A girl like Pat, now, whom I'll probably never get to meet, what's the big difference between us?" I had asked Helen. "She paints, she willingly puts off her marriage to care for a sick mother, she leaves John on his own for six months. That's about all I know about her," I had said.

"It adds up to an unusual girl these days," Helen had remarked.

"I wish I had some time to look at those paintings. Some were his and some were hers, you know. You can tell from a painting how the artist sees things. The better his technique, the easier it is to see what he's left out. If John were to do a portrait of me, I could tell how he sees me by what he's discarded."

Helen had looked at me and smiled.

"It's true, Sis," I had insisted. "When you look at yourself in the mirror, you see an awful lot of junk. You think it's all important, down to the last hair out of place. You can't be selective about yourself, so you never really know how you see yourself."

The doorbell had rung then. Helen had jumped up, her lips forming the name Jack questioningly. She had gone to the door and I had heard the voice of a woman.

It had turned out to be a local friend of Helen's a Mary Parker.

Soon we had mixed some highballs and were gradually relaxing as the liquor began numbing our brains, pushing aside the problems of the day.

Mary, a divorcee, had just returned from a trip to Acapulco, and had been anxious to tell all to my sister concerning her vacation.

"It's not the romantic place I used to think it was," she had said. "Every accountant from New York must have been there with his secretary, and the college bums, yi! Who needs it?"