Unknown - Bea_s pony

She began suggesting some things to wear. The weather was still warm, she noted. We finally agreed on hotpants and a very sheer jersey pullover.

We sat and talked about old times for several hours, did the dishes together and talked some more. Helen mixed highballs for us afterward. We had a second round and began to get a little giddy.

"Why don't you come upstairs and sleep with me, Bea?" she asked. "There's no reason to stay downstairs with Jack gone."

It sounded like a good idea. Helen had slept with me often, even after we had grown and left home. It had been some time since I had enjoyed the comfort of a warm body next to me in bed. I looked down at Clyde. "What about your pooch?" I asked. "Isn't he expecting any tonight?"

We both began to giggle uncontrollably. Clyde raised his head as if somehow knowing our mirth was because of him. He appeared perplexed, looking first at one of us and then at the other. His actions only made us laugh more.

Helen suddenly lifted her dress and dug her finger down inside her panties. "Here, Clyde," she cooed at him, extending the moist finger at his snout.

Cocking his head at the finger, he raised himself up, all the time sniffing carefully. Barking twice, he placed his front paws on her dress, wagging his tail and licking at her nervously. He became extremely agitated as he had been earlier in my bedroom.

"Aw, Sis," I pleaded. "That's cruel, teasing him."

"Who's teasing," she winked, getting down on all fours with her behind aimed at him.

"You're not…?" I screamed and got up from the chair. "Helen, no! Not in front of me." I began blushing furiously and ran from the kitchen.

"Come back, come back!" she cried, laughing. "I'm only kidding. Come on back!"

I poked my head back into the kitchen. She had gotten on her feet and was smoothing her dress. Clyde, still agitated, kept trying to place one paw on her thigh. Helen I had to conclude was still full of the devil.

"You're always doing things like that," I said, coming back in.

"It's because you're such a prude." She crinkled her nose. "Sometimes," she added.

She shut Clyde in the basement and we walked upstairs, our arms around each other.

I got undressed first and got into bed, watching Helen take her clothes off. The extra weight she was carrying since last we met seemed to be on her hips and thighs. The fat was not rumpled, though. The skin was still smooth in texture.

When she removed her bra and those lovely globes spilled outward, my heart skipped a beat. They had only developed the tiniest amount of sag over the years.

"Sweets," I said. "Why don't you go braless tomorrow? It will look good under a jersey."

"You really think so?" she asked, pushing her breasts in toward each other with the heels of her palms. They formed a massive cleavage at the center. Slowly she released the pressure against them and allowed her hands to move across them until the fingers meshed. She dropped her clasped hands.

"They're still just as lovely as ever," I said, just as envious as ever.

She cupped a hand under one as if estimating its weight. "Pound for pound, you can't find a better buy," she said, looking down at it, her lower lip pursed.

I laughed. "Give me one of those puppies with the brown nose, too." I watched her as she removed her panties. Her round little tummy pouted just the right amount. She had less hair on her than I did. Mine tended to grow wide to the sides and down on the insides of my thighs, necessitating shaving.

Helen, on the other hand, was blessed with a perfectly shaped thatch. It seemed better coordinated with the figure somehow.

She came over to the bed and got under the covers. After all these years we were still sleeping in the nude. I snuggled up to her, drinking in the warm smell of her. She reached over to turn out the light and put her arm around me, her breasts pressed against mine.

"Goodnight, Bea," she said.

"Night," I answered, slowly fading.

The drive to Denton the next day took us about an hour. It was a warm October day, the temperature well up in the seventies. My appointment with the breeder was at ten o'clock, and we had allowed for plenty of time.

Helen had taken my suggestion and not worn a bra. As I watched her at the wheel, I could see how the material of the jersey she was wearing hugged the firm shape of her breasts. The least little rocking motion of the car caused them to bob deliciously.

I had worn a skirt and blouse, and had taken a cardigan sweater to look a little bit more dressed up than for any other reason. I was bare-legged with only loafers on my feet.

Helen looked much more casual, and could have been mistaken for my younger sister than what was actually the case. She hummed a tune whenever there was a long pause in our conversation.

The farm was located a few miles outside of Denton and was known as the Ho-Ho-Pony Estates. A big sign bearing the name was positioned near the long dirt driveway leading to the main buildings, and we could see some horses and conventional sized ponies grazing in the pasture on either side.

A tall, lean Texan greeted us when we pulled into the compound. He was wearing a battered hat which shaded a rather weather-worn face. I noticed though he was clean shaven. He wore levis and didn't tuck them inside his boots.

"Mornin' ladies," he hailed us. Noticing the camera hanging from my shoulder as I got out, he said, "You must be the lady from New York, be you?" he asked.

I nodded. "I'm Beatrice Starr," I said, "and this is my sister, Mrs. Smallwood."

He tipped his hat. "Pleased to meet you. I be Hack Raver, the foreman here. The owner, Mr. Cunningham, is tied up at the moment but'll be here presently," he said, looking us over with undisguised interest. "What you can do, if you want, is walk around the place for yourselves. Or I can take you."

He waited to see what we might choose to do.

"I imagine," I said, looking around, "we could do that, just walk around by ourselves until Mr. Cunningham is free."

"Whatever you ladies want, I'm at your service," he said, tipping his hat again. "Them new ponies is over in that barn, there." He pointed to a low, one story building that was probably the newest structure in the compound.

Helen nudged me as we walked toward the new barn. "Why didn't you want him to show us around?" she asked. "Did you see that bulge in his pants?"

I hadn't noticed, but Helen was always alert to such things. "He's too eager," I said. "I'd rather wait for Cunningham." We looked back. The Texan was standing there watching us. He took the little-finger side of his hand and made a move at the "bulge" Helen had noticed as if to adjust it.

We walked into the barn. The ponies were tied in small stalls on either side. They were quite small for ponies as I had, of course, anticipated. I judged them to be roughly the size of a St. Bernard or Newfoundland dog. They were amazingly sleek and clean looking.

I walked down along the stalls slowly, thinking there wasn't much in the way of an interesting picture to be taken there with nothing but rear ends facing the camera.

One mare was in heat. She had thrown her tail straight up, and the hole was opening and closing rhythmically. Each time it opened rather violently, and I could see into the pink vastness of what was beyond.

I looked into some of the other stalls, wondering if the stallions had been gelded. It appeared that many of them had been.

One chestnut-colored male pony obviously had not been touched. He was straining at the ropes securing his neck, tugging backward, and pawing at the floor with one front hoof.

Glancing down, I noticed his thing was out stiff and hard. I gulped. It almost touched the floor. He underwent some kind of reflexive action with it, bringing it up from the floor and whacking it resoundingly against his belly. It seemed then to slowly shrink except for the head, collapsing accordion-like.