Lupita's breasts oozed milk, drenching two round spots in the front of her thin white cotton blouse, inches in diameter, the wet fabric sheer now and clinging to the nipples and the white purple-veined peaks looking as if she wore nothing at all, as if two large round holes had been cut into the cloth. Her nipples hurt, the pressure inside unendurable. She cupped the two mounds with her hands, but the gentle lifting pressure pushed milk out in a stream, the fluid running down, soaking into the cloth against her skin at her belly. She closed her eyes and muttered an oath. Then, careful not to disturb the burdens again, she touched her palms to the nipples, moving them in a circular motion against the taut flesh, massaging-even that touch made the milk ooze faster, and did nothing to relieve the pain.
She shook her head sadly. Even at fifteen, a mere child, her breasts had been big as a matron's; now that she was sixteen, after giving birth to a dead bundle of skin and bones, the mounds were gigantic, as full of milk as the stiff pig hides Manuel used to deliver the milky-looking pulque to the pulquerias in Cuajimalpa-and the pain in her nipples made Lupita as drunkenly delirious as the fermented drink from the maguey plant, the huge cactus-like plant, made the pulque drinkers.
If it were not for the pony-the thought made her blush, made her nipples tingle.
Hurriedly she rolled the last of the dough into a ball, placed it in the primitive wooden press and put her weight behind the lever, squashing the dough into a tortilla. She took it out of the press and laid it on the sheet of tin over the coals that served as a stove, then, wiping her hands on her skirt, she pushed back the curtain over the glassless window and peered out.
The hacienda, made out of rock and caulked with mud, sat on the highest rise of a deep-boxed gorge. She could see the thin ribbon of road sliced out of the green hillside that wandered down the gorge, curving up and then down to the stream and then up again toward the village of Cuajimalpa. The sun had already dropped low over the west hill, throwing its dark shadow high up on the opposite hillside, marking the difference between day and night, a sharp line; mist was beginning to rise from the stream blocking out part of the road, but she was sure Manuel had not started back toward home, there was no sign of the mules.
She dropped the curtain and her feet hurried over the dirt floor to the rear of the house and then out the back door, chickens squawking and flapping their wings as she strode through them toward the lean-to that served as a stable. Open on three sides to the weather, the roof was thatched with striplings and corn stalks, a narrow feeding trough ran along the one wall; fodder and hay covered the ground. The pony stood stiff-legged, dipping his nose into the trough for corn, the rope dangling from his neck to one of the corner posts.
As Lupita approached, his eyes rolled, his ears straightened, his neck stiffened, waiting. Lupita walked up slowly alongside him, stroking the still fuzzy hair on his back as she moved toward his head, her voice speaking softly to him now, "Ah, mi chiquito. My little one!" Her voice purred softly to him in Spanish, her hands rubbing his back, down his leg, moving up along his neck and then down his long face. The pony made a low snorting sound, a purr, in its nostrils. He nuzzled his nose into Lupita's breasts, and she smiled, whispering, "Quieres leche, mi chiquito." Would you like some milk? Holding its head in her hands she kissed the sloping nose.
Her hands fumbled at the top of her blouse, pulling the gathered elastic down over the globe-her other hand reached in and pulled out the massive mound of flesh, the sticky fluid glinting dully on the dark nipple, droplets forming, oozing out of the tip. "Aqui ... aqui estd tu leche, mi chiquito," Here, here it is.
She felt the wet wide lips nuzzling, parting over the nipple, the mouth already beginning to suck, testing-and then it seemed to draw in half her breast, pushing on it, sucking on it. Lupita's lungs gasped for air with the sensation, her eyes closing, her knees beginning to shake.
"Oooh!" So good, the feeling in her nipple, guiding the breast to his mouth, her other arm moving up to his ears, pushing his head down into the soft malleable flesh. Then, coming alive, she pulled the cloth down exposing her other breast, forcefully moved the sucking mouth over, feeling the thick wet lips gliding from one heavy globe to the other, her hand grasping that mound, her body twisting, grinding, stuffing more and more of the globe into the warm wet mouth, feeling the warmth flow from her breasts to her thighs, the heat spreading, the moisture spreading as if the pony's broad tongue had reached down and lapped between her legs.
Her eyes opened wider, frantically with the feeling, her hands fumbled with the halter rope at the post, shaking incontrollably, her fingers refusing to function-and then, at last, the rope seemed to come undone of its own accord. Her knees gave way and she sank to the thick matting of fodder and hay, smelling it, feeling the softness, the pony following, kneeling awkwardly on first its forelegs then its rear ones, its hungry mouth never leaving the breast she fed it, the steady sucking never stopping. And then it rolled over on its side, her body moving with it, still stoking the milk-laden tit into its mouth.
For five months she had fed the pony from her breast, ever since it was breached, tangled hopelessly in its mother's belly, one leg sticking out of the mare's gaping bloody vagina-Manuel, tears in his eyes, had run his knife into the mare's neck behind the skull, severing her spinal cord, and then had used the same knife to cut open her belly.
Her own baby-she knew it was dead in her womb. Manuel, his stubby beard shining wet with-pulque, his eyes rolling drunkenly, had beat her, one of his fists driving deep in her belly. The sac had broken and water had drained from her womb, gushing down her legs into a puddle around her, dropping down in the middle of it where she'd fallen when he hit her. The next day her pelvis had begun to grind and twist as if wrenches were applied to it, and then came the pains, as she'd never felt before, as the dead masses of flesh began, over a tortured two-day period, to be expulsed from her body. Manuel had fed it to the dogs.
Four days later the Appaloosa went into labor. Manuel's pride. Not the labor, he had found out she was in foal only after he had bred her to a burro, a prize burro of his father's, to get a strong high-back, large-flanked mule that could carry twice the loads of the mules bred from spindly small Mexican Arabians. And then, as the mare's belly swelled, he counted on his fingers and knew she was not pregnant with his prize mule-she was bred before he bought her. He would have to sell the foal, wait another year before his mare could breed again.
And then the decision, whether to kill the foal or kill the mare-cut off the foal's leg and reach in and drag out the rest of it, dragging and cutting, piece by piece. He had driven the knife quickly and deep. He sobbed quietly as he sliced open her belly, tears streaming down his cheeks, mixing with the sweat. Lupita had washed the blood off the foal, watched its eyes rolling frightened around in its head, not seeing, blinded by the light from the lantern. It gurgled high sounds in its throat, a wail as plaintive as any newborn's.
Manuel, on his knees, sat back on his heels staring at it, fingering the knife, his eyes rising only once to Lupita's face. Only for that instant did she wish he had had that look on his face when their baby-She'd shaken the thought out of her mind, her own eyes blurring as she looked at the head of the foal in her lap. Slowly she'd unbuttoned the front of the dress she'd been wearing, the print dress with the mariachi figures on it in bright colors-wet with sweat and blood. She'd taken her breast in her hand and guided the tip of it slowly toward the foal's mouth, satisfied somehow, feeling the culmination of some deep longing as the animal nuzzled experimentally, blindly, and then began to suck her tit, first one and then the other, until the breasts were dry and Lupita felt peace from them for the first time in months.
A month went by and then another; the soreness in her womb and between her thighs healed, the rush of bloody fluids slowed and stopped, and she lay awake nights with the heat in her womb, her fingers toying in the folds of her vagina, aware of Manuel snoring beside her, longing for him to climb on top of her, violently as he did after he had brought her from her father, ram his prick inside her and bring her to that peak of feeling she had come to love desperately. But he did not, and never was she more aware of it than when she held the head of the pony in her arm, squeezing her tit into its hungrily sucking mouth, feeling it nuzzle her between the legs as it sometimes did, its gigantic prick in its sheath of loose skin extending, becoming rigid and shiny-looking when she touched it, which she sometimes did. And now, getting hard whether she touched it or not, as if anticipating the feel of it when she took it in her hand.
She shifted his mouth to her other tit, feeling the pressure relieved, the pain gone, the nipples tingling excitedly. She stared at the huge penis, the head of it like a cylinder, almost flat at the end except for the slit-even as she watched a drop of thick fluid began to form in it. Just like Manuel, she thought a smile spreading her lips. Only bigger. Mas grande! She slid her hips along the hay, moving toward it, trying to reach out and grab it with her hand, but she couldn't reach it. Cradling the head in her arm, careful not to pull the pony's mouth away from suckling, she pulled it toward her, bending the head down and in toward its body. Her hand moved along the underside of its belly. The muscles in her vagina kept tensing and jerking of their own volition, the desire throbbing inside her. Straining, pulling at the pony's head, her fingers touched the head of its prick-the pony was growing too large too fast-and then, straining harder, her fingers moved along the head and closed around the shaft of it. The pony's mouth stopped sucking. It stilled immediately, hardly breathing.
Squeezing it tight, she shifted the loose skin of it up over the head and brought it down again, then began a slow, steady rhythm of it, stroking, jacking the prick, her eyes watching it, longing for it, not in her hand but stuck between her legs, rammed in her, all of it, splitting! She could almost feel it! Deep in her cunt, reaching for her womb, forcing its way in, ripping at her!
Her eyes blurred, her head shaking from side to side, her hips quivering, her knees clapping together, thighs squeezing each other. Her hand dropped the pony's penis as if it were burning her palm. A moan squirmed out of her lungs. The hand, her fingers, dived between her legs, up under her skirt, her fingertips groping in the wet lips of her cunt, mashing into the flesh, flat on her, and then rubbing back and forth, from her clitoris to her asshole, and then ducking inside, two fingers in between her lips, trying to jam her whole hand inside her.
Tiny cries escaped her lips-and, as if suddenly aware of the pony's mouth again sucking on her breast, pressing into the soft flesh, she ran her mouth over the side of its face, feverishly kissing. With a loud groan she let go of it and stood up, fumbling with the bottom of her blouse. She yanked it off over her head, shaking out her long black hair. Her hands moved to the waist of the skirt, pushing it down over her hips, dropping it to the hay-covered ground and stepping out of it.
The sun had gone now, and the early night air was cool on her naked flesh, but she could see, the moon was high and full, the light of it shimmering over her skin. She ran her hands over her body, over her breasts, and down her belly to her thighs, moving between them, her hands riding through the slick warm wet labia as almost inaudible moans slipped out between her clenched teeth, her eyes looking at the pony's prick, watching it jump as he tensed his muscles. Her hands moved back up to her breasts, squeezing the mounds, straining the nipples toward her own mouth, her head, her mouth reaching for the nipples, her tongue sticking out to touch them.
Dropping to her knees, she pushed the pony's mouth again to her breasts, feeling it begin to suck her, then shifting it to her other mound and back again, moving his wet mouth down over her belly now, seeing the trail his wet mouth left behind it, moving the mouth across her belly, up under her breasts, feeling it nuzzle into the softness, and then pushing the mouth back down again, further this time, over her mound of thick hair and in between her thighs. Her lungs sucked in air sharply as the lips quivered against her hot cunt, the tongue moving rough and wet against her sensitive flesh, exploring, and then the mouth began to suck, sucking loose, alive meat in its mouth, sucking the lips of her cunt in, its upper lip rubbing hard against her clitoris as it tried to suck more and more of it in.
"Oooh!" she groaned, Chupalo, chupalo, chupalo!" Suck it, suck it, suck it! She lay back on her elbow, the hand squeezing her breast, kneading into it, her fingers massaging the nipple, her other hand high up on the pony's head between its ears, pressing his nudging sucking mouth even tighter into her.
Her eyes rolled back in her head, her head dropped back on her shoulders. The ecstasy rising in her body, spreading out from the mouth on her cunt, spreading, flashing heat and passion through every nerve end in her body and bouncing back again, impacting in her womb. Seeing the gigantic prick in her mind, wishing not only for the mouth sucking her, wishing she could be ravaged by that organ at the same time.
Then her vaginal muscles began to throb and tighten, the muscles in her buttocks, in her thighs, her whole body, growing tenser, tighter, feeling the emotion swelling in her cunt and in her mind simultaneously, feeling her whole body climbing, beginning to soar, rising straight into the night sky. The sound out of her lips now a wailing gurgle, laughing through it in her head, feeling the beauty of the feeling as she rose, rose, soared higher until she knew it couldn't go higher and then did, rising, and then in a flushing groaning whoosh, slow flushing from her body and soul, she felt herself coming, gliding out in space over the edge, wafting on the pinnacle of feeling, the ecstasy draining her, draining every muscle not only of tension but of strength, and slowly she collapsed, lying back completely now, in the prickly hay, but feeling only a cushion of satiation between her and the ground, aware only of the beauty of sensations in her body as the pony continued to suck her cunt, nuzzling between her thighs.
Moments later, the animal apparently tired of the tit between her thighs, the head began to move up, the tongue lapping at the sweaty salt on her skin, licking her entire body down, then up her breasts, neck, and face, then again moving to her breast, sucking once more at the nipples.
Slowly, Lupita let her mind return to awareness, smiling with the afterglow of orgasm, feeling the tingling mouth on her nipple. He was so beautiful, her chiquito. Lazily she stretched, feeling the sharp points in the hay on her back for the first time, but trying to ignore them, lovingly stroking the pony's hairy face, scratching up and down his long nose the way she knew he liked it. The animal had risen now, was standing with his hooves inches from her side.
Looking down his flank her eyes focused on his penis, sticking out bony and erect, the color of it eerily chalk white in the light from the moon. Feeling the mouth on her, seeing that big fucking prick hanging down, thinking about it, of how it would feel. The tingling began again in her cunt. But she couldn't do that, she couldn't take it, it was gigantic, it would split her open. She felt the blood racing through her body, beginning to pound at her temples. The pony had sucked her tits, had licked her body down, had nuzzled and sucked between her thighs at the meat of her cunt, but this had been the first time she'd ever reached an orgasm with him without helping it along with her finger jacking her clitoris.
She pushed the head away and got to her feet, rubbing her breasts and belly against the pony's side, her hands rubbing down its back, feeling its slick-curried hair like silk against her glassy skin, feeling as if sparks were about to fly from its body, from the appendage hanging from its body, straight up between her legs into her churning cunt. Her hand moved down along its side to its belly and then back, feeling for the organ, the pony deathly still, waiting. And then her hand was on it, marveling at it, sliding up and down the length of it, all the while her body getting hotter-her mind telling her she couldn't do it. More decidedly in each telling, her body writhing inwardly, tingling, crying out for it, her cunt yearning to take the prick in its gaping hungry jaws and swallow it, demanding it.
Weak in the knees, wobbly, she sank to the hay, still holding onto her prize, her hand-her fingers couldn't close around it, it was so huge!-moving slowly up and down the shaft and head, knowing the pony liked that. A drop of juice strung out from the slit in the head, dropping to the ground, the string behind it gleaming, picking up the lights before it broke. She touched her thumb to the cleft, smoothing out the juice that was left, rubbing it over the head, then jacking it faster, the strokes longer. Overwhelmed at the sight of it, the feel of it in her hands, the yearning for it in her cunt, she bent forward and kissed the head of it, kissed it lovingly, her tongue circling around the taut, shiny head, then nuzzling it with her cheek. So beauti ful! She loved it.
She had to try! Standing, she pressed behind his forelegs with her foot, pushing down on his back, and, obediently, he dropped to the ground. She pulled up on his legs, rolling him over on his back, and he curved his spine, balancing, his legs dangling limply. She straddled him, her buttocks sticking out dangerously near his rear hooves but sure that he wouldn't move. And then she took hold of the prick, her eyes getting wild in anticipation as she lowered her gaping cunt to it. The meat of its prick-head, cool from the air, touched her burning cunt and she almost swooned. Her jaw slacked open, her eyelids dropped closed.
Slowly, writhing her pelvis, she rubbed the head of it through the crease, wetting it, delighting in the feel of it, gliding it over her clitoris, down between the vulvic lips over the small gaping cunthole, along the seam in the crease to her asshole, rimming it with the edge of the prick's cleft-head and then by it, all the way up and back again. She couldn't control her larynx, the sounds began and grew, continually erupting from deep inside her, as if they were coming all the way from her cunt itself by way of her womb. Still holding the giant prick, her arms moved forward, her elbows stiff, her breasts between them squeezing the mammoth globes together, mashing them into each other, sliding the prick-head back and forth over her panting cunt, afraid to try, knowing it was going to hurt, but knowing too she had to have it, she couldn't dp without it! Just once, just this once!
Feeling the longing, the cries from it growing stronger by the second, feeling the heat emanating from the opening like a furnace, hesitantly, she lowered her body on it, guiding it to the rim of her cunt, settling her weight down on it. The broad head of it resisted at the hole, pushing against it but not penetrating. She wriggled her hips, settling harder, grinding it into the opening. The pain! Her eyes closed, her face contorted in a grimace of pain and passion, both hands on the prick, pushing her body against it, trying to force it inside. She strained harder, grinding against it. Sweat began to form in beads along her upper lip and forehead. Her weight bounced on it as a frustrated wail broke out of her clenched teeth. The pony whimpered an answer. Tears came out of her eyes as she knew she couldn't make it. Frustrated and angry, she moved her body back off it, her buttocks resting against the pony's haunches, both hands still clinging to the prick, beginning to jack it now, angrily, furious at her own frustration, crying and moaning with the ferocity of desires burning inside her cunt.
Her hands slowed on it, her pelvis writhing forward, sliding up and down on the shaft, rubbing it into the meaty lips, then falling back, jacking it again. Loving it, stroking it in the semidarkness, her body leaning over it, she felt it pulse in her hand, and then again and again, faster. A hot stream shot up her belly to her breasts! She cried out, knowing it was coming, wanting it to, but wanting it in her cunt, wanting to feel that burning, spurting stream inside, blasting all the way up in her guts, and again her body went on it, trying to stuff it in her cunt, her weight pounding on it, her hands trying to keep up the rhythm on it, feeling the thick syrupy come splashing against her cunt and ass, feeling the pain again as she poked it into the opening, trying to get it inside her.
Then the different pain. She didn't hear Manuel approaching, didn't sense him stopping a few feet behind her, anger boiling inside his pulque-drunken mind, his fists clenching and unclenching, watching her, in the moonlight, trying to stuff the pony's prick up her cunt, come still splashing out of it and running down the insides of her thighs. Her own mind, delirious with passion, with the compulsion to feel the prick, reeling even before he hit her on the side of her head. She felt the smack, the instant ringing in her head and the flashing red behind her eyes, felt the battering pain, felt herself careening through space and then the crash to the hay-covered ground.
Almost instantly she was yanked to her feet by the hair of her head, a palm and then a backhand and another slap and back again across her face, blinding her, stinging and battering against her face, her head, and then a fist in her stomach and then other fists, in her breasts, in her head, dangling now on her knees as he held her up by the hair, pounding her with his fists.
She didn't hear the pony whinnying skittishly, scampering to its feet after she was knocked off it, didn't see it turning, maneuvering its haunches toward Manuel, didn't see his weight shift forward on his forelegs, her rear ones drawing up off the ground, cocking, and then letting loose. The two hooves caught Manuel square in the back, knocking him into and then over Lupita. Groggily she saw him flailing on the ground with the pain. She lay where she had fallen, dumbly tasting the blood from the cut in her lip. The pony too waited quietly, the halter rope dangling on the ground beneath his head.
Manuel raised himself painfully to his knees, fumbling in his pocket-and then a click, and the blade of the knife glinted silver in the light. He staggered to his feet, eyes flashing.
"No, Manuel!" Lupita screamed.
He went by her, his eyes on the pony, staggering heavy-footed.
"No!" Lupita lunged, grabbing Manuel by the legs, the pony neighing, shifting nervously. "Run, mi, chiquito! Escapa te!"
Manuel swung at her, hit her on the shoulder.
The pony backed a few steps, his head rearing, turning from side to side.
"Escapa te, mi potro!" Her voice wailed, breaking into a forlorn cry.
Obediently, at last, the pony turned and his four legs charged out of the lean-to, his head turned back, holding Lupita in his vision until he disappeared into the trees.
Manuel's voice crackled, his eyes on Lupita now. His throat harsh. Ramera! You filthy bitch!" Saliva bubbled at the corners of his mouth. He slapped her, openhanded, knocking her back on the ground. Then the hand with the knife in it, he raised it.
Lupita gaped in horror at the glinting blade. Her jaw dropped. Her hand went to her mouth to stifle a scream.
Manuel faltered, stopped. He looked at the knife in his hand, and then threw it aside. "Ramera!" his voice hissed. His eyes roving her nude body, the heavy breasts, the tiny waist even though her belly was still loose and plump, the wide woman's hips. Her legs were spread where she'd fallen, the gaping wet cunthole glaring up at him, the wet juices of her own and the colt's gleaming up at him through the hair, around the red parted lips. "Ramera," almost a whisper as his hand went to the buttons at his fly, his fingers reaching inside, fumbling with his prick, dragging it out into the night air.
Lupita stared, her own eyes drawn from the ferocity in his face to the way he held the prick in his hand, at the base, shifting the arching hard length of it up and down, waving it like an angry banner.
"Ramera," he said again, dropping to his knees between her legs, his breath rasping now out of his mouth, leering lustily.
She scampered back in the hay, fearful of the look on his face, but his hand reached out, grabbing her leg, yanking her back toward him. His hands went under her knees, lifting her legs in one movement atop his shoulders, and then he was on her, pressing her body double, his prick in his hand again rubbing the head of it in the loose folds of her labia, searching for the opening to her cunt. She smelled the sour-pulque breath, his hoarse breathing directly in her face, her legs between them, her back breaking on the hard ground beneath the prickly hay, the muscles stretching taut in the backs of her legs, his weight heavy on her, crushing her, her own legs mashing her breasts, squeezing the air out of her lungs. She felt the head of his dick gliding frantically through the crease between her thighs, searching, then it was at the hole. His hand came away from between them and his hips lunged!
"Madre de Dios!" Lupita shrieked. Mother of God! She felt it drive in her, the head of it battering the rear of her vagina, past the cervix, poking pain in her all the way into her belly. His hips drove steadily, hard, punishing, his voice muttering, moaning. Lupita couldnlt move, pinned by his weight, at the mercy of that fiercely pounding prick in her cunt-and after the first painful strokes merged into another sensation, touching the yearning, awakening again her desires, she didn't want to move, except to add her own movements to his. Climbing in her mind, in her body, the voluptuousness forcing every thought, every pain aside, every sensation aside except the ramming pounding man-prick poking her all the way to her womb, to her soul.
A moan choked off in her throat, her larynx searching for words. Her Manuel, her lover, her husband, saying to him over and over, a lusty whisper, "Si, si, si, amante mio."
"Yes, my lover. The sounds, the words, rising from a whisper in her ears to a shriek as it built the ecstasy, the. hard rod pumping, the coarse fabric of his clothes rasping on her clitoris and her ass with his strokes, the head of his stiff prick retreating then slamming in, careening off the roof of her cunt, slamming past the protruding cervix to batter into the, rear of the hole so hard it chattered her teeth with the impact and she loved it, needed it, had cried for it, and now at last, for the first time in so long, she was getting it. The muscles around the battering prick tightened, heightening the sensation, her body strained against him, pushing toward orgasm, toward total ecstasy, and then she felt it on her! She was coming! The bursting wail in her throat rose with the climax, matching its timbre to the power of her orgasm, coming, coming!
And Manuel, slowing now but each stroke increasing in fierceness, pounding even harder than before, the grunts erupting straight from his gonads with each tearing, vicious, banging lunge, and Lupita knew he was coming too, going wild a flashing instant with the thought that he might be too soon, an instant too soon, and then there was not another thought, just the living of the passion, of ecstasy, aware and happy knowing that Manuel was feeling the same, coming, coming, at the peak of it she knew, only to discover with every lunge there was one still higher, and then at last floating in it, buoyed in shimmering ecstasy as Manuel dropped exhaustedly on top of her, his face, wet with sweat, nuzzling into her cheek, her neck, her shoulder lowering her legs slowly to the haycovered ground. He kissed each nipple of her breasts and then lay quietly on top of her, whispering softly. "Ramera," he used the word again, but this time there was a different sound behind it. "Te amo, ramera mia. Mi ramera cereza." I love you, personal little slut of minemy little cherry slut.
Lupita smiled, stretching languorously, then her arms tightened around his waist, and her pelvis, under him, ground into his.
Manuel rolled aside, grinning at her in the semilight, and began to remove his clothes. Lupita giggled, ignoring the pain in her body, in her split bloody lip, and began to help.
The pony wandered aimlessly for a moment, and then trod back to the edge of the clearing, watching across the yard as Manuel and Lupita struggled together in the lean-to. The smell of Lupita, the smell of a woman, was still hot in his nostrils, the memory of her breasts feeding him, the glow in his haunches still warmly reminding him of what a woman meant.
But she had told him to go. He turned his back on her for the last time, striding deep in the underbrush. Strong exuberance swelled in his long belly. He raised his head and bellowed in his strongest voice that he was free. And then he charged into the underbrush, racing the fireflies, leaping agilely over fallen trees and bushes.
Out of the woods, suddenly in a cornfield, he thrashed happily, trampling the stalks to the ground, then ate his fill of corn and fodder. The moon, full and bright like an exotic dessert, rode lazily out of his reach, and he followed it, the sounds of the night-crawlers soon drowning out the diminishing gush of the water racing in the stream of the gorge.
CHAPTER TWO
Carmela wandered slowly through the crowded aisles between heaping stacks of wares, oblivious to the chants of the vendors and the cat-calls and whistles that followed her. Her long hair, almost to her waist, bleached a shade lighter than platinum, was pulled to the side, dog-ear fashion, and tied with strips of purple yarn; it fell across her shoulders over blossoming full breasts, the dark flesh rising in ballooning waves in the vee-neck of the laven der knitted blouse. Occasionally she lifted the dark glasses to show the black pupils of a morena; except for them, because of her hair and her small delicate features, she was taken as a rubia, one of "the blonde ones"-perhaps an American tourista, golden-tanned from the rays of Acapulco instead of her mother's Oaxacan blood.
"Melita, que pasa? Tu-"
She hissed at the voice at her elbow. "Callate, bastardo! Shut your fucking mouth!"
Ramirez sighed, his words spoken into the dusty air of the marketplace. "It was the best I could do."
"Then as a manager, Rico, you're a worthless son of a bitch." Carmela fingered the black delicate lace of an exquisite rabosa: her mother could wear it to Mass. "Cuanto questa?"
Old woman's eyes behind the counter, heavy lids in a leathery face, mouth muttered, "Tres cientos pesos, senorita," without looking up. Three hundred pesos.
Carmela tossed the shawl away disgustedly. "Two shows a night in the worst whorehouse in the worst hellhole in Mexico and you expect me to work for less than the price of a shawl." The slice in her words to Ramirez seemed capable of drawing blood. As if to nobody, Carmela added, "It's not worth fifty."
Ramirez couldn't meet her eyes. "Exotics, strippers-nobody wants them unless they're turning tricks."
"Dos-cinquenta," the old lady muttered. Two-fifty.
"Sienta-cinqo," Carmela spat back at her. Seventy-five. "Chingo tu madre, bastardo. Go fuck your mother. At sixteen I was sucking and fucking every filthy peon from here to Guadalajara. I'll never do it again, Rico, I'll cut off my head first."
The old woman sighed. "Dos ciento pesos, semorita. Es finemente." Two hundred.
Carmela folded up the shawl, the bite in her voice relenting. "Give her eighty pesos."
Ramirez pulled out a roll of bills.
"Por favor, senorita. Ciento-cinquenta." The eyes still had moved, but a frantic plea touched her voice.
"Here, old woman." Ramirez peeled a hundred and fifty off the roll and tossed the bills on the counter.
"Gracias, senor."
Carmela snatched up the fifty, glaring at Ramirez. "Is that the way you bargain for me, you bastard? They offer you three-thousand pesos a week and you settle for two?" She put the shawl back on the stack beside the hundred-peso note. "Which do you want, old woman?"
Slowly, a withered hand drew the hundred from the pile. For the first time the face looked at Carmela. There was pure hatred in the eyes.
Carmela tucked the fifty in the vee of her blouse, pushing it deep between the two crushed mounds of cleavage, picked up the shawl and strode away. Ramirez hurried along behind her.
Friday. Market day in Toluca. Dirty white muslin sheets raised on poles to keep off the hot sun, stretch from the huge mercado building and the zocolo a block away for a full half mile north to the foothills. The calliope from the carrousel shrieks through the air, mixing with the loud bargaining voices of the vendors and buyers, the laughs of the tourists and the weaker strains of a dozen street organs. Smells of cooking food-chickens barbecuing, pork roasting, bisteak broiling, vats of beans steaming over hot coals. At every corner watermelon slices, pieces of pineapple, steaming ears of corn, stalks of sugar cane, bananas; on flat heating tins lay greasy tortillas for tacos and enchillados, steaming chunks of meat and greenish paste of guacomale or sour goat cheese.
Serapes, panchos, sombreros, shoes, pottery, beads, saddles, and harnesses, candles, pinatas, religious plaques, paintings, basketware, firewood-everything is for sale on Friday in Toluca. From villages a day's walk away the people come, huaraches on their feet, wearing the trajes of their tribe, or cotton pants and collarless shirts or fashions straight out of Sears & Roebuck in Mexico City; driving the laden burros before them, or often their own backs bent with a stack of firewood or a heap of goods that would make a mule wince from the load. And the buyers and tourists come. From Mexico City, sixty kilometros away, from as far as Morelia, more than a hundred and sixty. In buses, "hillbuggies" (the carry-alls used as buses on the narrow washed-out mountain roads), in wagons, mule carts, on the backs of burros, on horseback-many dressed as charros, with fancy pants and vests, sombreros and western boots and pistols in their belts-and afoot, they come. A deafening, squirming melange of chaos and cacophony.
From the top of the desolate foothills the pony looked down on the puebla. The white muslin squares, rolling lazily from the breeze, looked like a pond of cream, washing onto a scraggly beach. The ornate cathedral and government buildings on the zocolo, the pastel shops and homes diminishing in the distance, the colorful rising plumes on the carrousel, the ferris wheel, and other rides, seemed to the pony as exotic as a fantasy forest along the opposite shore, a grove not of trees but of barber poles and berries. The sounds beckoned him happily. Inquisitive, he sniffed the air; never had his nostrils filled with such riches!
He moved slowly down the hill, through the cactus, over the rocks and bursts of brush, loping into a canter as his nose got nearer and the scent grew richer still.
Carmela, leaning forward to keep the juice from dripping on her blouse, bit into the slice of pineapple, tasting the tart edge of the red chile powders against the sweet pulp. She turned away without even a pause for Ramirez to hand the vendor a peso.
"If you're going to do shows, you've got to have a gimmick." Ramirez wiped the sweat off his face with his handkerchief. "A three-way lesbian thing or something. There's a market for a good act-the rich towns, the border towns, Juarez, Laredo, Tijuana. If you don't have a gimmick, you've got to turn tricks."
Carmela talked around the pineapple. "Will you get lost, Rico? I came back home to think. Go somewhere and jack off or something, will you? Just leave me the fuck alone?"
It was then that the chaos erupted and swelled. Children laughing, shouting-the words garbled by the shrieks that began and swelled over them. Carmela turned to see the pony, moving slowly but skittishly, confused, a gang of children behind it. "Un potro, un potro!" A man leaped out of a booth, his arms reaching for the pony's neck. The animal turned, his back legs sidling in the narrow aisle into stacks of pottery, and bowls, pots, urns, dishes, all toppled and crashed. The pole supporting a corner of the sheet fell, and white muslin draped over the pony's head, blinding him. The animal reared then, his forelegs clawing the air, his rear ones stepping back, scared now, trying to shake the cloth off his head, he backed into another booth, toppling it in another long series of crashes.
"Un potro!" somebody shouted again, followed by a stream of curses. Men ran in from all sides grabbing at him-somebody pulled the sheet off his head but now the animal was frantic, badly frightened. His head swung from side to side, shaking men off, his rear legs reared and his hooves shot out in defense, catching luckily only the wood of a panel, splintering it into flying chips.
A young well-dressed female tourist, her hands covering her face, stood shrieking a few feet away. The pony swung around-and then stopped! As if he hadn't been afraid at all! He settled quickly, still breathing heavily but not moving now, as if he'd found a friend, as if his troubles were over. The men moved in immediately, one draping a noose around his neck and pulling the rope tight. Still the pony hadn't moved. It sniffed at the woman, stuck out his tongue and licked at the hands that covered the face. The woman parted her hands, shrieked even louder, and moved away.
A woman beside the stall, bending over, picking up pieces of debris, was only a few feet away. The pony moved to her and stopped. Carmela watched, fascinated. The head of the huge penis of the pony, before sheathed in its coarse skin, was now protruding like the head of a pig sticking out of a sack. Carmela wasn't the only one that noticed it.
A man laughed, pointing. "El potro les gustan las muheres!" Others looked and laughed with him.
Carmela's eyes grew wide. The man was right! It did like women. As if to prove the point the pony nudged the bending woman square in the center of her rounded buttocks, straightening her in an embarrassed cursing leap.
"De quien lo es?" somebody asked. 'Wo se," replied the man who held the rope. Nobody knew who it belonged to.
Carmela moved without pausing to think it over. "Es mia!" It's mine. She moved quickly, taking the end of the rope halter from the man that held it. The pony turned his head to her, nuzzling at the swelling tanned mounds of breasts in the opening of her blouse.
A dozen voices at once rose up screaming about the damages done by the animal-so confused was the scene and so anxious were those demanding payment, no one questioned her claim to the pony.
"Pay them, Rico," Carmela said to Ramirez, her eyes never leaving the pony, the glint never leaving her eyes. She walked slowly away, leading the animal behind her, feeling his head nuzzling gently into her shoulder. She talked to it gently, the sound of the marketplace fading in her ears.
Off the pavement and up a dusty road, Carmela led the pony. Abarrotes-groceries-said the sign, tome Coca-Cola. Her mother's tienda. The storefront cut into what had once been the living room of their ancient house. At least the shelves were filled now, thanks to the money Carmela had been sending home during all those months-She shook the thought out of her head. Never again would she let the filthy bastards paw her naked body. She'd never met a single one who could be called a man among them. All of them came on big, acting like machos-but they all had the pricks of ninos. Little boys.
If it hadn't been for Rico-Her skin flushed. It had been a long time. She needed Rico, needed his mouth on her, his tongue, needed that fat cock of his. She could see it in her mind, the veins sticking out, the arc in it as it got hard and stiff. "Mas grande!" adding to the pony, "but not as big as yours, mi potro. She led him behind the house. An old chicken shed-it had been full of chickens when her father was alive-was built alongside the house.
"Es tu, Melita?" Her mother stuck her head out a window. Hardly over forty, her thin frame and the deep lines in her coarse Indian skin made her look closer to sixty.
"Si, mama! It's me. Con un amigo."
With a friend? "Con un amigo en la casa de polios?" In the chicken house?
Carmela laughed. "Mi amigo es un potro!"
"Oh," her mother replied, as if that answered everything. Carmela heard her chatting from inside the house with a customer about her crazy daughter in the chicken house with a pony.
Tying the pony to a post, Carmela began pulling the weeds out of the heavily fertilized floor of the roost. Moments later, Ramirez arrived, the trunk lid of his car propped open by a bale of hay and sacks of oats and corn. Carmela handed him a crowbar, and, using a hammer, helped him to rip the roosting struts and laying bins out, setting up a couple of bins in a corner for a feeding trough for the pony.
"How much is twenty American dollars times ten people a show, Rico?" Carmela asked, pushing a wisp of hair out of her face.
He strew a couple more handfuls of hay over the ground. "Make it twenty-five a show. Two hundred and fifty dollars, that's twelve and a half pesos to the dollar ... three thousand, one hundred and twenty-five pesos." He stopped. "Seven nights a week, two or three shows a night-fifty thousand pesos a week," he added soberly.
Carmela laughed. "Don't I even get a night off?" She paused a moment. "Do you think we can do it, Rico?"
Rico grinned at her. "Can you do it? Build an act around a pony? In Tijuana is a flat-chested pig of a woman, no? She does a split, lowering her body to the floor and picks up a dime with the lips of her pussy. She lowers her body onto a pop bottle, taking it all the way inside, and then she rises and dances around the room with it and acts like it gives her an orgasm. With the bottle still inside her, she again picks up a dime with her cunt. For ten minutes only she does such stunts. She does three, maybe four shows a might, five or six on weekends. Ten people, maybe twenty at each show. They pay ten to twenty dollars each, depending on how hungry she is at the moment. Si, I can set it up, Melita. Verdad, it could make us rich. Can you do it?"
Carmela led the pony into the stall, tying the rope halter to give him room to eat the corn from the bin. The pony ignored the corn, tilting his head again into the opening of his mistress's blouse, his lips softly nibbling at the soft mounds, salty with sweat, rising above the cloth. She lay her head against the slope of his nose. "Soon enough, my pet." She kissed it then, and rubbing her hands along its side, moved down its flank. Carefully she ran her hand down to the protruding shaft of erect penis. Her hand closed around it, marveling at the breadth of it. The lips of her pussy inside her pants quivered; the pony made a soft drawing noise through his nostrils-almost a sigh. "Soon, mi querido," Carmela repeated.
Her breasts rose and fell unevenly with her breathing, a gush of blood to her head, the flush of her skin, the ... agitation ... between her thighs, the muscles in her vagina flexing and unflexing of their own accord, her vaginal lips wetting themselves in hungry anticipation. A prick that size-ramming her cunt! Her eyes closed, the muscles in her legs seemed to fail her.
But it was to Ramirez she turned. "Rico!" She moved into him, her whole body against him, her pelvis automatically thrusting, feeling for the hard stiffness of his prick against her belly. Her mouth groped upward for his, her arms around him squeezing, her lips crushing against his, her tongue darting inside, exploring, thrusting, almost as if she expected her tongue in his mouth to replace his prick in her cunt. A moan swelled in her throat, building, her hands moved to the zipper of his pants, opening it. She fumbled inside, her fingers closing around the plastic hardness of prick, struggling with it to pull it into the open. And then it burst free.
Her mouth broke away from his, the moaning a cry out of her open mouth. Her knees failed her, lowering her to the ground, her cheek clinging to his body, riding it down, going down, along his chest, his waist, then feeling the hot smooth flesh of his prick on her face. She kissed it and rubbed it against her cheek, over her face, loving it, cooing over it, and then the hungry anxious moan was muted by her lips as her mouth gobbled it, taking it inside, her tongue running crazily around the head of it.
God, she wanted it! Madre de Dios, how she wanted it! Her head moved, swallowing, wanting to take it all! In the back of her throat, sucking, swallowing, her tongue swishing, straining, she gagged till her eyes watered, and still her lips moved further down the shaft, the tears streaming down her grimacing face.
"God ... damn!" Ramirez blurted, his hands grasping the head that sucked his dick, pulling it even tighter on him, his hips grinding at her mouth, using his dick as a drill to go deeper, deeper.
Her head moved back, and back, until her lips were again around the head of his prick, and then they leaped down the shaft again. Again they moved back, faster this time, the tempo continuing to increase until she heard Ramirez's moans, his hands still twisting her head onto the shaft, the fervor of his grinding hips stronger. A sudden awakening flashed across Carmela's face. Her hand moving now to replace her mouth on the shaft, her head broke away, her eyes looking up at him pleadingly, "Don't come, you bastard. Not yet!" And then her face turned fearfully aghast.
He cried out, the spurting shooting stream hitting Carmela in the face, running down her chin! Her mouth again groped for him, taking his prick inside to catch the semen, sucking, swallowing the stream of juice as it built in her throat, over the moans, while over and over her mind repeated, You son of a bitch, you son of a bitch, in time with his mouth muttering, "Lo siento, lo siento." I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Her tongue licked him clean, using the head of his prick to brush the wetness from her cheek into her mouth and sucking him until not another drop appeared.
Her face came up menacingly. "You stupid bastard, get it up again." Her hands grabbed the bottom of her blouse and lifted it over her head. Her hands reached behind, thrusting the bra-cupped breasts out deliriously, and then as the bra hooks were unlatched the breasts burst free, quivering and swaying as she shrugged her shoulders and allowed the straps to slide down her arms.
Her flesh shimmered with her movements, the nipples straining outward, grasping air, almost alive, so strong was the desire she felt in them. Her hands pushed at the hipline pants, pushing them down fully contoured legs, leaving just the wisp of white bikini silk, and it too followed the pants, tossed in a heap with her blouse and bra. She stood there a full second, her breasts thrusting, pulsing outward, the tiny waist sloping deftly toward inviting hips and the wildly contoured cheeks of her ass. The black triangle of hair seemed alive from her pores as she watched Ramirez, watched his tongue darting over his lips, the sweat forming in beads on his forehead, his moustache twitching as his eyes bugged out, roving every curve of her exquisite body, his prick, arching upward hard and strong again, the head of it red and shining, shimmering in the narrow ribbons of sunlight shining between the boards of the building, glinting as bright as the golden strands of hay on the ground.
Ramirez fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. Carmela moved to him, anxious, helping him with his shirt, his pants. She dropped to the hay matting, the strands prickly at her back. She motioned, impatient, and pulled Ramirez down on top of her, reaching for his prick, her legs spreading, rising in the air, her hands guiding his prick to the wet glistening gaping cunthole. Both hands on his prick, Carmela stuck the head into the wetness at the opening. "Ahorita!" she cried. Now! Ramirez lunged.
Feeling the length of his prick stabbing deep inside her hole, all the way in, poking so hard in the rear of her vagina Carmela got the shock all the way to her back teeth-joyously feeling it, ecstatically feeling it. Feeling him withdraw to slam again, and again, picking up speed now-yes, yes! "Chingame, mi amante!"
Her palms slapped into the cheeks of his ass, her fingers digging in, getting a grip, her hips writhing under the pounding of his ass, her own ass swinging into motion, coming alive-she wasn't thinking, wasn't trying, her whole brain was writhing, like her hips, in soulful passionate ecstasy, her hips just swinging in to match it, moving of their own accord. Her breasts, the nipples so tight and alive, were crushed under Ramirez's weight, the hairs on his chest rough against the tender flesh of her tits. His prick pounding like a piston in a compression chamber, building the pressure, pumping her up with aliveness, with passion, pumping, pumping, feeding her womb, her guts, her mind, expanding the passion, blowing it up like a balloon with desires and passions and tensions.
Then, almost a continuum, 'the tensions bursting out of her, fast shootings of precious ecstatic relievings of tensions and pressures and desires, a whoosh, whooshing burst of tight consciousness erupting in a flooding thrust of stimulus against her every nerve end, pushing colors through her closed eyelids in sweet strains of ecstatic music, merging into the patterns of the straw on which she lay.
Slowly awakening to consciousness-in her cunt first, in the grand glorious inner sanctum, in the fucking hole that had blessed her with such fleshly beauty-the awakening spreading to her womb, an awakening matched with the same desires, only stronger this time even than before, the plateau higher this time. She still hadn't come down, she was still up there somewhere, floating like a gardenia lei on a softly rolling pond, not yet back on the mossy banks. And the roll swelled, the waters rising stronger-she was riding a wave and it was swelling to heights she'd seldom reached.
Ramirez was still pounding, still fucking her sacred hole. That prick of his-reaching, banging, pounding, fucking her belly, pushing her up there again! The smell of the hay mixed with the smell of their sweating bodies, bodies sliding against each other, rising in her nostrils with the smell of sex, a solid tangible scent of fucking-God, so good, so sweet the smell, the feel!
Her lungs gurgled a moan, her teeth, riding his shoulder, sank in to stifle the sound but then her jaw dropped slack as she met the rise, speeding upward and upward, the sound from her larynx meeting her emotions. Ramirez moaned, and even as the ecstasy overtook her, enveloping her mind, flushing her body in the powerful throes of orgasm, she knew instinctively that he was coming too, and in the last surging spin upward she heard the shrieking cry, hardly aware that it split out of her own oblivious id. And Ramirez collapsed on top of her.
Only then did she hear the other cry: her mother's frantic voice, calling, "Melita, Melita!"
At last Carmela, pushing Ramirez off, letting the cool air caress her sweat-drenched skin, answered. "Si, mama!" Lungs heaving, her voice strained to sound smooth and even. It didn't quite make it.
Her mother paused. "Melita, esta Men?" Are you all right?
Carmela grinned at the slanting roof. "Si, mama. Estoy muy bien!"
Moments later she rolled toward Ramirez. Smiling, she took his prick, wet and slippery from the wet mixed juices of her body and his, and toyed with it, jacking it gently. She stuck it in her mouth and sucked, and jacked it, until it grew hard and ready again. She climbed atop him, straddling him on her knees, bending forward on her hands, the full globulous breasts with the dark areola wavering excitedly over his face. Teasingly she dipped first one nipple and then the other across his lips, pulling it out as he began to suck noisily on it, rubbing her full soft tits in his face as his eyes grew as big as the nippled beauties that excited him.
She scurried up further on his body, kneeling beside his head. Her fingers played in the hairy lips of her wet cunt, spreading them wide in front of Ramirez's face. She watched his eyes looking into the hole, looking straight up into her cunt, through her womb and into her skull. Slowly she lowered her body, lowering her cuntlips until they kissed him on the mouth. Then she ground them into his face, her head reeling, feeling him sucking her cunt, her clitoris, her asshole, his tongue roaming deep inside her vagina, sucking and stroking her clitoris, eating her pussy until the sweet eclipse of glowing loveliness brought tears of pleasure to her eyes.
As her eyes rolled back into their sockets again, she saw the pony. Her eyes roved from the end of his nose to the long dangling penis. "Soon, mi querido."
Prodded by Ramirez, she moved her body, reaching for his dick, slipping it into her wet sheath, slowly grinding her hips on it. Her muscles were tired but not exhausted. The scent of hay and dust and sweat and sex rose calmly in her nostrils. She wanted to fuck, and she would fuck until she dropped unconscious. The good feeling swam over her then, touching her brain with ecstatic fingers. Estoy bien, mama. Estoy muy bien.
Each morning for five days, Carmela packed food in a shoulder bag-tortillas, beans, strips of pork, a bottle of rich San Tomas sauterne, and sugar cubes for the pony-and with a blanket over his back for a saddle, her hands in his mane the only reins, she rode him'west and north, into the woods, following a stream that flowed from high in the mountains. Beside a pool far up the mountainside, where the sun poured through the shade of the trees like golden wine from the spout of a vat, she stopped and spread the blanket. Feeling the warm rays, she stood in the clearing, unbuttoned her blouse, and coaxed the pony-"Querido," dear one, she called him now as if it were his name-coaxed Querido to nudge the fabric off her shoulders and down her arms.
At first she'd tried to teach the pony to take the blouse and lay it aside, but it had been frustrating. It was strange, the pony would strip her of her clothes, it learned to do it as if it had always done it, but after she was naked the clothes had no interest for Querido. His mouth went immediately to her breasts, the nostrils sniffing, the lips quivering and then nibbling at the nipples, opening, sucking in, taking more and more of her breasts, sucking hard. It was if he expected to get milk.
Teaching him was paradoxical. The first time she'd climbed up on his back he had just stood there. It took quite awhile for him to get the message that she expected him to move. But once he did, that first afternoon, he'd followed her every whim, responding to her hands in the hair on his neck as if it were her brain that commanded his feet instead of his own. In some ways he seemed almost human; in others he remained as stupid as a chicken.
Loving the feel of his mouth sucking her breasts, caressing the long hairy snoot with her hands, rubbing her cheek against him, she'd wait, and then she'd open the zipper on the side of her pants and move his nose down to the edge of the fabric. He didn't know where to tug to pull them off evenly, but he moved his mouth wherever she guided it, and worked the pants further down her legs until she could step out of them. Then she would have him do the same with her panties.
The panties were important. She'd already worked out the details of her act. She'd come on stage in a pink pegnoir and sheer pink panties. She'd do a couple of turns to music, and then stand there as Querido stripped her. Then she'd hold his head as he sucked her tits, holding her body stiff, sliding her legs between his forelegs and let him lower her to the floor. He would lick down her body, sucking her tits, her pussy; she'd have him roll over on his back and she'd lower her cunthole onto that big fat fucking tool and fuck him. Really fuck him. Until he came, shooting off like a fire hose inside her. Yes, she'd seen how that fucking thing shot off.
Already the pony had it down. After just four days at it the pony acted as if it were his nature to do precisely what she wanted him to do. He never failed her, not in the essentials. Everything was perfect. Except for one small detail. She still hadn't been able to get that monstrous goddamn prick of his inside her. She'd jacked it off, she knew what a stream of semen it shot, but she'd never been able to even get the head of it started in her cunt.
Now, on the fifth day, she shivered as Querido sucked her tits, sucked them with a ferocity she couldn't imagine with a baby, a ferocity she'd never experienced with a man. Weird sensations-the cold, cold lips around such a hot mouth, the touch of his long hairy jaws. She writhed her chest into him, moving his mouth slurpingly from first one tit and then to the other. Her breath sucked in through her teeth, her eyelids drooped closed, her head dropped back on her shoulders as if the muscles in her neck had just given out. "Ahh, Querido!" Straightening, she shook the feeling out of her head. "Aqui, Querido!" Here! Her hands pushed the long nose down, away from her breasts to the waistband of her pants. "Aqui, aqui." Then frustrated: "Ah, chingada! Ypor que?" Only the panties, not the pants, were important. She pushed the pants down herself and stepped. out of them. She guided his nose back to her waist until his mouth began nudging the panties down, down further, she helping him. She kicked the piece of cloth aside and took his head, leading him further back on the blanket. Moving her feet forward, her body rigid, supporting her weight with her arms around the pony's neck just behind his ears, she edged her feet forward, between his forelegs, arching her body just slightly.
Querido resisted at first, and then slowly his head began to bend, lowering her gently to the blanket. When she lay flat she released him. Laying now between his forelegs, her feet at his rear hooves-it had scared her at first, afraid he'd step on her, but when he moved it was gingerly, knowing apparently he could hurt her, moving his head from side to side as if looking first with one eye then the other, placing his hooves in a way that was safe for her. She was no longer afraid.
She could see his prick now, his horse penis, huge, the crevice in the end aiming straight at her head. His mouth dipped mere inches further to nibble again at the nipples of her tits, and then the lips moved all over her. Along her sides, over her belly, down her legs. Carmela closed her eyes. Her hands dropped away from his head to her sides. Her whole body was tingling, feeling at once the warm sun and the cool air trailing the wet kisses of the pony's explorative mouth. His mouth, oh, how she loved his mouth! It was nudging between her legs now, nuzzling in the patch of hair at the crotch of her thighs, rooting in between her legs, tickling her flesh, nibbling up a few inches then back again. She teased herself as long as she could stand it, then with a sharp cry of acquiescence, her legs parted, the pony's wet nose dipped into the hot wet warmth of her vulva, the cold lips and hot tongue wildly attacking her labia, her clitoris, nibbling, sucking.
Desire built so strongly in her cunt she couldn't wait any longer, she wanted to come, she wanted it now! Her finger moved to her clitoris, even as the pony's mouth sucked at the opening, the lips clutching and kneading and squeezing the sensitive labia, Carmela jacked the clitoris, her fingers moving maddeningly, feeling the pent-up tensions soaring up on her, screaming for appeasement, for satisfaction. "Oohh-" The cry was a wail, a whimper, a plea to the pony to suck her, suck her, eat her cunt as she fucked it with her finger-ooohhl She groaned then, and it was over, all too soon it was over, she climaxed, and she'd hardly climbed at all! If anything, the desire now was even stronger than before. She wanted it, she wanted orgasm, orgasms, and she wanted them now!
Her face grimaced in pain, almost crying, so strong was her desire. "Quera ... quera chingar, Querido!" I need to fuck, I need it, Querido! She pushed the nose away and sat up determined. Her breasts swayed violently, her hair flying about her shoulders. "Arrojo, Querido, down," she told him, pushing at the joints of his forelegs. Obediently the pony lowered himself lumberingly to the ground, rolling over on his back, curving his spine to steady himself.
His penis lay almost flat against his belly, stiff and throbbing, the veins pulsing-except for the cleft in the end it was built like a cannon-oh God! Carmela thought, if it ever shoots off in me it'll blow me to-but flat on the end that way I'll never be able to get it in me!
Her hands touched it fearfully, marvelingly. The curious combination, the thick, soft smooth skin enclosing what seemed to be a heavy invincible shaft of steel. Hesitantly she moved the foreskin up over the head, almost encasing it, and then back down again. The pony lifted his head an instant, snorting sensually through his nostrils. Carmela moved the skin up again and down. Then again. A syrupy fluid began to ooze out of the cleft. Her fingers smoothed it round over the head, wetting it, and again she moved the foreskin up and back.
Unable to stand it any longer, she straddled the pony's loins, ignoring the rear legs, the hooves, and guided the head of the prick to her thighs, to her cunt. Wetting the head even more with the abundant juices from her labial clefts, she set it at the hole and lowered her body onto it.
Spreading the lips of her cunt as far as they'd go with one hand, fitting the head of the prick to the hole with the other, Carmela struggled, writhing in her efforts to get it in, squirming in an attempt to avoid the pain. Carrimba! No! Almost as long as her forearm, as big around as her wrist, it simply wouldn't go in, it couldn't go in. Her knees bent, her hips rotating, trying to work the end of the prick in her, it was simply too much for her to take. She just couldn't handle it. But then somehow, her ears ringing so great was the pain, the head of it tipped slightly, and the breadth of it was pitched into her tiny hole.
The gasp broke into a high-pitched groan-no, no, she couldn't do it! Chingada, it was splitting her open! From her asshole to her navel it was splitting her, she had to get off it, had to get it out, she couldn't do it! Half poised in the decision to remove it, to get herself off that splitting spike, a fraction of a second's firm resolve deciding now or never, she heaved herself on it, lifting her legs and throwing her entire weight onto the rod at her cunt! A shrieking, piercing wail cut through the pines. It ripped into her, the prick, impaling her, stretching, tearing into her all the way through her vagina, the careening punch past the end of her cervix like a kick in the stomach, and going in it seemed to take the lips of her bleeding cunt and her clitoris with it, doubling her insides! Madre de Dios! Mother of God, what pain! Never had she suffered such agony. The force of it took her breath, took her strength. Eight, maybe ten inches of that axe-handle prick had been speared into her, with still another four in reserve. How could even a mare take such a dick inside it?
She fell forward onto the pony's belly, her head between the limply dangling forelegs. Gasping for breath she lay there, feeling it inside her, filling her, seeming to extend from hip to hip, from her ass to her rib cage. But there was more than pain: a ... voluptuousness. A voluptuousness filled her. That prick, the idea of it-It had taken most of her strength for the moment just to take it, a camion, Carmela thought, like getting hit by a truck. But now, laying there exhausted, the coarse hair of the pony's belly against her skin, her tits rubbing against him, the smell of him thick in her nostrils, the prick filling her pussy like pulque in a pig sack-the opening was ripped, stinging, she knew it was bleeding and she didn't care, there was something more now, something beginning, a heat, red-hot coals emanating from the pony's heat, glowing through his penis to her body. She could feel it pulsing with the blood that coursed through the veins, throbbing with a power that seemed to be rejuvenating her own.
She moved barely fractions of an inch off the prick stuck up her vagina and then settled back on it. The wetness carried just a little way out by the shaft helped to relieve a little pressure at the opening. She did it again. The lips, the skin that had been drawn inside her by the friction of the shaft going in took lube and eased. She sighed with relief; it was easing, the pain. The stinging was still there but much of the grueling pain was relinquishing to pleasure, meeting it head on, relinquishing to the voluptuousness filling her body. Again she raised her ass, drawing the prick out of its hole, drawing it further and further, until this time the ridge of the larger head over the shoulders clutched at the rim of her cunthole, causing her lungs to surge, gasping air as if for a last breath. Slowly she pushed on it again. The emotion, the sensation, swelled into her belly like air being pumped into a tube, even to the pores rippling over her skin, gooseflesh trembling in waves.
The pony lay trembling, his head moving nervously from side to side, his body deathly still except for the trembles that racked it-waves that matched Carmela's own. He made a sound, a whimper of pleasure, and the whimper was matched by a sound from Carmela, a whimper that seemed to be yanked bodily from the depths of her womb.
Carmela's hips, her pelvis, her ass, curved upward in a golden pinnacle in the air, her whole body began a series of slow tortuous ascents and descents on the shaft, each move as emotionally ripping as the physical impaling had been. Each move burdening her with so totally an indulgent ecstasy-imbued lethargy, of peace and well being, the simultaneous thrusting of desire, a nervous fritter of hungry sensation-seeking yearning, that it touched her deeper, even in its ambiguity, than anything ever had before.
The madness took possession of her, her face twisted in a grotesque grimace, her arms gripping the beast beneath her as if it were a buoy in a raging sea, her legs jerking spastically, her body writhing and twisting and convulsing in a mad mental hell of passion. Faster the hell raced, faster, faster, beating into her consciousness the madness, bellowing out of her womb in grunts and groans and moans and shrieks and gasps and whimpers, the madness, tears gushing from closed eyes, sweat beading on her face and body and streaming down in rivulets, her golden ass rising and falling and pounding its madness over the pillar that impaled it, a priapic post on a merry-go-round of madness-and then the explosion of it, the crying, bleating, screaming explosion, the expansion of passions so blindingly broad, her body exploding, her mind exploding-an unknown hell's pageant revealed in a beastly splendor the likes of which she'd never dreamed! She screamed like a madwoman, her hair matting in sweat and dust, her face swollen and distorted to match her mind, her eyes bugged and unseeing, her mouth twisted horridly, her body suspended on a rack mixing pain and pleasure, fire and ice, extremes so beyond what she'd known or was capable of imagining she couldn't define it, would never be able to.
At the peak of her madness, an insane plateau, the gushing realization-if that's what it was-of a higher madness still, a gushing hydrant of still greater madness, spurting into her body, flooding her womb, gushing around the monster prick, a hydrant in her belly, the hot thick come shooting in, flushing her insides out, gushing out of her crammed-filled cunt, streaming down the insides of her thighs. The screams, the wails, the cries, the moans, diminished so slowly the diminishing was almost imperceptible, and all that was left was honest weeping, openly, eyes still streaming their tears of a joy so grand, a beauty so ecstatic, it was incomprehensible, and now, after experiencing it, all she could do was cry.
The pony lay perfectly quiet now, his breathing labored, but at rest. When Carmela's strength had been regarnered somewhat, she turned, dismounting. The limp tool slid wetly out of her body, slithering aside. She took it in her hands, her eyes swollen and seeing only distortedly; the tears rushing again, she kissed the magnitude of it, the gigantic penis that had given her such fond pleasure. Its sides were wet with semen and streaked with her blood, but she kissed it with love, rubbing her face in it, enthralled with adulation for it-semen, blood, mixing with her sweat, into her hair, all over her face. Holding onto it, still nuzzling it with her cheek, she whispered words so strange to her own ears-or to ears of others-words of love, it was as if she had been blessed with the pleasures not of a beast but of a God.
A long time passed before she could rouse herself. Then she led the pony into the icy waters of the mountain pool, to wash, and to refresh.
CHAPTER THREE
Carmela stirred in sleep, feeling the warm wet mouth sucking the nipple of her breast. "Ummm," she said, smiling but not opening her eyes. Her arms moved up to encircle Ramirez's neck as his hands closed on the firm soft mound of flesh, squeezing gently, ballooning the tit into his mouth. Stretching languorously, her chest writhed harder into his face. "Oohh, bueno!" she whispered. "It feels good." His tongue flicked around the areola, his mouth still sucking. His hands moved down her body, down her waist, over her hips, across her flat belly. Teasingly he skipped over the rising mound of hair to her knees, tracing his fingers up the insides of her thighs. Instinctively her legs spread wide, her pelvis reached to meet his hand.
Then suddenly she went rigid. "No!" She pushed him away. "No, I can't!" she told him, rolling over on her stomach.
"Melita," Ramirez's mouth grazed the curve of her shoulder into her neck, "I need you."
She could feel his penis, stiff and hard, pressing against her buttock. Stiff and hard and tiny. A little-man prick. She was sore, her poor fucking pussy was damned sore-for more than a month, twice, three times, a couple of weekends six times a day she'd balled Querido, balled a fucking horse-size dick that chopped her insides out, that drove her clawing up the goddamned walls, it felt so good. Her cunt stayed sore, all the time, but it was worth it for Querido, worth it for that gigantic dream-size priapus, worth it if she were ten times more sore-but it wasn't worth it with a man, not any man, not even Rico. She'd have the pain without the pleasure; not anywhere near the pain she'd have with Querido in just another few hours, but with no pleasure at all. No man would ever stick his toy dick in her fucking cunt again. Not if she could help it.
Still-He was Rico. He was good to her. She turned over, her arms folding once again around him, feeling his mouth at her neck, his hands moving up automatically to the slope of her breasts. Her fingers snaked down his torso, over the hair on his chest, down his lean body into the hair of his crotch, to curl themselves around his ready manhood. He moaned at the touch, his mouth moving for hers, his tongue darting between her lips. She shifted her body and he rolled with her, over on his back.
It was her mouth this time, moving down his neck, her tongue teasing the tiny male teats on his chest, her hand rubbing over his prick, snaking gently around his balls, into the crack of his ass and back up again. She glided down in the bed, across him, supporting herself on an elbow between his knees, one hand cupping the sac of his testicles, teasing in his crotch, at his asshole, her other hand grabbing his dick and squeezing, pulsing, her eyes watching her hands as if they belonged to somebody else. Slowly the hand raised the foreskin up and over the head and back again. Her tongue licked out across her lips. As if hypnotized, her head was drawn to his penis, her mouth open wide, her tongue poised, shining wet with saliva, drawing closer. Her eyelids dropped closed sensually and rolled open again as her tongue touched the head of it, seeming to curl around it, licking it, tasting it.
"Chupa, Melita! Suck it!"
His voice was so low Carmela almost missed it-not that she needed instructions. Her mouth closed over the head of it, her lips protecting it from her teeth. Using her lips, her hand riding just below her mouth, her tongue keeping it wet, she sucked and jacked it, feeling his body quivering beneath her, feeling the life in the sac of his balls, drawing, tightening, and shrinking, withdrawing into the ecstasy she was bestowing upon him. One hand still following the mouth on his prick, her other on his balls, a finger extended, rimming his asshole.
She smiled to herself around his prick, feeling his ass squirming from her finger, feeling him dodging it, moving from it, his ass shifting around like the eyes of a cornered cat. His groans turned into grunts, into words, her name, over and over, then back to grunts, louder this time, more urgent. She knew he was coming. Faster she sucked and jacked and bobbed on his man-prick, tasting it rich, in her mouth, feeing her cunt wet from his passion, her nipples hard and erect to match the strength of his dick.
Then, in a long grinding grunt, the veins in his prick straining to burst loose, he was coming, shooting off in her mouth! The teasing finger, toying at his asshole, waited for that instant-she rammed it straight up his ass, hard, stabbing at him! His hips leaped a foot off the bed, his hands on her head, holding it on his prick, there was nowhere for his prick to go but in, straight into her throat, shooting come straight down her esophagus into her belly! She gagged but held on, taking it for him, feeling the come backing up in her throat all the way to her lips, swallowing furiously, trying to keep up, sucking even harder than before, her finger still rammed into his ass, wriggling for his prostate.
She felt his body straining, straining, and then the strain subsiding, all his strength draining from his body, as if his very manhood had drained out of his cock with his semen. Even the sphincter muscles relaxed around her finger and she withdrew it slowly, withdrew her mouth from his now limp penis. A trail of fluid followed her mouth and then broke as she licked her lips to form a line from the red head of his penis across his abdomen.
Grinning, she kissed him on his cheek and leaped out of bed. "Juana!" she called, opening the door into the hallway. "Jua-"
Startled, the young girl, on her knees, fell backward, her long black pigtails flying. Her coal-black eyes were wide with fear, her hand snatched out from beneath her multi-colored skirt. "Lo-senorita," Her tiny voice cracked. "Lo siento, senorita-"the color rose red beneath the dark bronze of her Indian complexion.
Carmela stared a moment, then shook her head back to reality. "Juana, desayuno, ahora, por favor-tocino y huevos." She waited as the girl-child scrambled to her feet-"Si, si, senorita"-and scrambled toward the kitchen to fix breakfast.
Under the shower Carmela adjusted the stream to a fine prickling hot spray, feeling her pores opening, her skin glowing, the lethargy consuming her. Remembering the look on Juana's round face, she smiled lazily. Peeking through a keyhole, playing with herself! Carmela laughed aloud. Unhurriedly she began to soap her arms, her breasts lingering over the nipples, seeing again the look on Juana's face. But she's fifteen. Two months before, she had her "quinceanos"-her coming-out party-a holdover fertility rite, really, like a society debut, or a "sweet-sixteen" party, except in the villages it is the .official proclamation by the family that the girl is fifteen and ready, officially a woman and on the auction block.
Juana was Oaxacan, like Carmela's mother, from Telixtlahuaca, her mother's village. Beleaguered by the lack of available men as husband material, Juana's mother had sent her to Toluca, to Carmela's mother, a cousin, and asked her to help. Carmela had taken the girl with her when she left Toluca as a criada, a maid.
"But she's just a child!" Carmela suddenly said aloud. A nina. A nina of fifteen, with plums of breasts. Still, Carmela at sixteen had been not only a woman but a whore. She shook that thought out of her head; no point in dwelling on that. Vigorously she soaped between her legs, at the crack that ran from her spine over her asshole to her clitoris, as if to wash off accumulative layers of invisible dirt.
By the time Carmela finished her bacon and eggs it was past six-the sun had already sunk beyond the plaza de toros. Ramirez had dressed quickly and left, to begin lining up the suckers for the evening's entertainment. The first show would be at ten. Carmela groaned just thinking about it. Not one day off-except for the first two days of her period-not one day's rest since she arrived in Tijuana a month before. She gulped the last of the coffee and descended the steps to the garage which housed Querido.
"Buenos noches, mi amante," Carmela whispered.
The pony swished his tail excitedly, more like a friendly dog than an equine. Immediately, as it always did when Carmela appeared, his prick stuck its head out of its sac.
Carmela ran her hand down his back. Juana had curried him well this morning. His coat shone like a high lacquer from the brushing. Turning, the long hairy face nuzzled into the top of Carmela's robe. She laughed. "My horny friend. You're more goat than pony. A satyr, verdad?" She opened her robe for him, letting his mouth suck first one breast then another, feeling his coarse tongue on the nipples. She drew away from him then, and fed him the cubes of sugar she'd brought. "Rest, mi querido. Our loins will meet each other soon enough." She kissed him on the wide flat between his eyes, and left him until time to leave for La Casa de Cola-the house of tail.
At nine-thirty, Carmela, carrying her vanity case, looped the rope halter loosely around Querido's neck and led him out the small rear door of the garage into the alleyway. It was dark now, but the heat of the sun rose with the dust around her ankles. It was less than a block to the back cellar door of the casa, but the night was hot, the alley dusty. Carmela could feel the sweat oozing from her pores.
The door was open for her as usual. She led the pony down the rickety ramp to the cement floor, the pony's hooves sounding abnormally loud after the soft clumps in the dusty earth of the alley.
One overhead bulb, shaded to spot its beam directly onto the thick blanket of hay, gave the only light in the room. Folding chairs were arranged in rows three-quarters around the spot of light. Forty chairs. On two different nights-the last two Saturday nights-she had seen them all filled, with other spectators standing, leering, shouting obscenities from behind the seated ones.
At the fourth side of the makeshift stage was a draped archway. A cheap portable stereo sat on the floor beside it. Behind the drape was a narrow room containing a rusty shower stall, a commode, a chair, and a wall mirror so distorted with age it was virtually impossible to use. At the end of the room, opposite the shower, a fresh pile of hay was placed once a day for Querido to wait out his performances. A bucket stood next to a half-empty sack of oats. Carmela scooped a handful from the sack into the bucket, leaving Querido to munch lazily as she prepared herself.
She undressed casually, folding her clothes and laying them on the chair. She stepped under the dismally cold spray of the shower to rinse off the dust of the alley, drying herself with a towel from her vanity case, then rubbing rose oil over her legs and body. She stepped into the sheer scanty pink panties, the elastic snapping with finality just above the soft black mound of pubic hair. She fluffed out the ruffles of the pink peignoir, drawing it together with a sash around her waist, and donned the small pink mule bedroom slippers. After brushing out her hair, arranging it to fall softly about her shoulders, cascading down her back, she was ready. She stood silently for a moment, returning the gaze of Querido, who watched her leisurely. "Un momentito, Querido," she whispered. She pushed the drapes aside, and climbed the stairs to the main level of the casa.
Coming out of the quiet semidarkness of the basement, the light was glaring, the sounds deafening. Several of the girls were standing in the hallway, chatting together, before the large bulk of customers would arrive over the next two to four hours. A couple of them nodded warmly at Carmela, a couple looked at her with awe-most of the others glared at her, resentment smoldering, aware of the greater dinero Carmela earned with her act than they could earn on their backs. She smiled shyly, returning smiles, glared back at those who glared, squeezing her way through them down the corridor toward the living room, the reception area.
No more than eight or ten customers had arrived as yet, brought in by several pimps who stood around drinking the tea Luis supplied them from the kitchen, but there were already eighteen or twenty girls in the room. Fat ones, tall ones, redheads, black-haired ones, girls who looked too young to menustrate, much less turn tricks, others who were probably grandmothers with daughters on the street. Some wore street clothes, others wore no more than panties and bra; one girl in a sheer shorty nightie with see-through panties; another in a hip-length micro-mini who bent over at regular intervals, showing coarse wiry black hairs and limply dangling cuntlips, to show she wore no panties at all; some with bulging mammoth tits choked together in black lace uplifts, while one girl with no bra had no breasts to match and was seemingly proud of the two huge nipples bulging under a sheer blouse.
It was early now, the smell of a half-dozen perfumes mixing with stale smoke and many bodies was still relatively breathable; later, when the sweat stink and undouched cunt smell and the staler smoke and rancid breaths of drunken mouths reached their peak the stench could drive you from the room retching and gasping for air. God, Carmela hated it! But she hated poverty more.
"Mela?" Carmela turned to the voice. Luis, his tattooed chest peering through the hair in the open neck of his shirt, steered a well-dressed distinguished-looking man and woman into the room. "Mela, I presente you Senor y Seriora Mike and Barbara. From Arizona in las Estados Unites."
"Mucho gusto," Carmela replied automatically. Barbara's suit, the flashing glint of the stones in the rings on her fingers, even the carriage of her head said mucho dinero to Carmela; the man, Mike, dressed casually but expensively, was probably the source of it.
Luis droned on in his heavy broken English: "Rico sent them. They come to see-who you call it?"
"Andromache," Mike replied, taking Carmela's hand and kissing it gently, his eyes not rising above the clear glow of her nipples through the sheer pink peignoir.
"Who is this ... 'Andromache'?" Luis asked.
Mike drew slowly on his cigar, his eyes roving over Carmela's body. "A Greek girl. Used to fuck around with a fellow named Hector. Until she fell in love with his horse."
Barbara's smile was chilling, directed at her husband. "She found out undoubtedly that between the two of them the horse was a better man."
Mike's eyes reflected a slur, but they remained on Carmela.
Luis motioned a girl over to take their order for drinks. "Well, I got one Greek girl working for me but her name is Gloria."
Mike and Barbara both laughed delightedly at a joke shared only between themselves.
Carmela accepted a drink-a real one, the one before each show she permitted herself.
Moments later Rico arrived. The group he had in tow was half drunk, a happy seeming, joking drunk. Seven of them. Rico introduced them with a flourish, pretending to match their unsteadiness with a drunk act of his own. "Senorita Mela, may I introduce to you the United States Navy!"
A tall one with blond red-streaked hair bowed. "Happy to meet you, Miss Navy."
"No, no, stupid," a short kid in a Hawaiian-print shirt said, "You're the navy, she's a girl."
"Oh, yes," the blond noted weaving. "I stand connected."
"Not yet you ain't!"
A harsh-eyed blackbeard in a turtleneck put his arm around her, reaching up under her armpit to cup her breast. "You make it with animals, honeybun, I got a dick like a bull myself. How "bout you and me balling a little-let them guys fuck the horse."
Hawaiian-print sneered. "Built like a bull and filled with the same kind of shit."
"Get off my back, mother fucker, I'm talking to the chick."
Carmela twisted away. "Show time in five minutes, boys." She turned and elbowed her way back toward the door to the cellar, leaving Rico to line up the others, collect the money for admission, and lead them down.
Flipping the switch on the stereo, Carmela hummed with the music. She moved behind the drape and sat down to wait. Querido walked slowly to where she sat. His nose explored her hair, her cheek. He was familiar with the routine now. He too waited. He knew it would not be for long.
In little more than seconds, footsteps clomped down the stairway. Many of them. Voices chattered and made obscene remarks, some of them called out to Mela, others commented about the twenty-dollar door charge. "A hell of a price to pay without even getting screwed."
"At that price we are getting screwed!" Chairs scraped on the cement floor as the spectators were seated.
At the sound of a low whistle-Rico's signal that all were there who would be-Carmela rose and slipped off the panties. She had given those up as part of the act the first week: the suckers paid their money not for an animal act but to see her fuck a horse. She inserted a dab of lubricating gel just inside her vagina, smoothing it over her labia. She pushed the drape aside and went out smiling, moving to the music, strutting around the hay like an exotic, flipping the bottom of the peignoir to expose her long curvaceous legs. The catcalls, the jeers, and Whistles she ignored, her teeth flashing as if she really enjoyed it. Hardly seconds behind her entrance, the pony's head appeared through the drapes. Cries of "Get a horse!" and "She's got one!" met with "Whoo-whoo's" and other appropriate noises in a deafening response.
As the strains of one number on the album ended, Carmela moved directly under the light, onto the hay. Querido moved casually around until he faced her, his nose reaching tentatively out to touch her face. She untied the sash at her waist and stood perfectly still. As the music began again, the pony nudged at the opening of the robe and it parted. Dipping his head, he seemed to be running his mouth down her torso and back up again, pushing one side of the fabric up and off her shoulder-then he moved to the other side. The peignoir dropped down Carmela's arms and off.
She stood there in the light, her skin golden hued, glistening from the rose oil. Her breasts stood out firm, the nipples hotly protruding, the areola dark against shimmering highlights of bronze. The flat stomach above the black mound of hair, the legs contoured almost caricature perfect, the cheeks of her butt curving wide but delicately to form the lower part of the base of her spine.
Nostrils quivering, the pony's lips nuzzled at the nipples of her breast. The prick under his belly stiffened and grew, swelling to its monstrous proportions.
"She's going to take that cock?"
"Man, will you look at that horse!"
"I'm too busy looking at the chick!"
"Oh, get it, honeybun!"
"What an ass!"
"The girl or the horse?"
"Suck that tit, pony buddy, I'm with you!"
The jibes and jeers were thrown banteringly, but now they were slowing, the sounds of breathing in the audience heavier.
Carmela's eyes dropped slowly with the sensation rising in her nipples. Her hands moved up to cup her breasts, squeezing them, feeding them to the hairy mouth that sucked at them. Her head fell limply back on her shoulders, her hair falling back. She was not pretending. She didn't have to. "Querido!" she murmured, sensuality thick in her voice.
Her hands moved nervously up around his head, shifting her weight to his neck as she inched her feet forward, her body stiff, sliding forward between his forelegs as his head gradually lowered her to the hay mattress. She could see it now, that dick hanging like a weapon under him, that big goddamn motherfucking dick-he wouldn't fail her, her querido, her amante, her fucking fucklover. And she was ready, goddamn she-was ready!
His mouth sucked at her tits as she clutched at them, squeezed them into his mouth. Her thighs spread open unconsciously until they were stopped by his hooves, as his mouth nibbled from her breasts down her torso, down between her thighs. Her pelvis lifted off the floor, meeting the mouth. She moaned, gritting her teeth as the wet mouth seemed to swallow her whole cunt, lips, ass, and all. Her fingers dug into the insides of her thighs, thrusting herself at the mouth, the sucking, nibbling, licking mouth.
The only sounds in the room now were the music and Carmela's moans and whimpers. Every face was still, every eye wide with the sight of the girl's uncontrolled passion for her beast, her lover, every expression totally engrossed.
Carmela's foot lifted, reaching for the head of her lover's prick, her whole body straining for it. A short cry of frustration broke through her lips as she saw she couldn't make it. Her body writhing, she twisted further along the hay between the pony's forelegs until her foot rested along the head of it, stroking gently, lifting it, nudging at it.
Querido's head straightened. His whole body went rigid, his loins pushed slightly forward as if he were meeting the touch of her.
Carmela moved further, sitting up beneath the pony, edging her shoulders, her breasts, between his forelegs, grabbing for the prick with both hands, kissing it. Without letting go of it, she whispered a command, moving from beneath, rising, "Down, Querido," touching his rear legs at the joint. Instantly the pony lumbered to the floor, getting down on his forelegs, then his rear ones, dropping to his belly, and-like a dog playing dead-rolled over on his back.
Before the pony had stopped moving, Carmela was on him, nervously, wildly anxious, her full breasts swaying, quivering. Quickly she guided the long fat roll of a prick to her cunt, her ass lowering toward it. Her fat tits heaving with her gasping breaths, she got it started in the hole. Lowering her body, the head of it disappeared inside her, and then half the shaft followed it in.
Her face relaxed for an instant, her eyes closed with relief, her lungs heaved a tremendous sigh, as if she were aflame and a drenching of water had just put out the blaze. It was always like that now, the first time each night. She dreamed of that prick in her cunt, she couldn't stand being away from it, she had to have it, she could never be without it again now that she'd found it.
Ass stroking, her tits bouncing with her strokes, she pounded her vagina with that prick, leaping on it until she bounced off with the force of her ass's drive at it. Her breath coming in gasps and cries and sobs, Carmela pumped, fucking it, fucking it. The rising crescendo of her voice, her heaving tits, the speeding tempo of her cunt slurping on its beloved tool, she was coming, it was pouring out of her body like heat waves off desert sands. The low hoarse scream came ripping out of her, choking out of her lungs as she climaxed, her teeth bared in a grimace of inconceivable ecstasy. She came. Her voice choked off, her pounding pelvis strokes on the prick slowed jerkingly, spastically, her head drooping to her breast.
The entire audience had been made to feel some of what she felt-knew precisely her sensations and almost matched them, or longed to match them, in their own hot crotches. But she hadn't stopped, not completely, and now she was moving again, more regularly, picking up speed. She was going again.
Several of the males had brought girls from upstairs down with them-the hookers got a cut for enticing their tricks to first see the show-but for the most part, until now, they'd been al most completely forgotten, so great was the fascination for Carmela with the pony. Now they were hot, goaded with the heat of their own loins-even the girls, even the ones who had seen Carmela before, were hot as hell; nobody could watch Carmela without getting aroused.
One short, red-faced balding man had his hand up the skirt of the hard-faced young Indian whore next to him, his arm moving like a rod on a cam as he finger-fucked her; another, a frailish-looking man in his fifties, had the girl he was with-only the red bobbed wig she was wearing could be seen of her-down on her knees between his legs, her head bobbing in his lap as she sucked his joint, his breaths chasing each other as his eyes chased after every movement of Carmela's ass rising and falling atop the pony's prick. Another had his girl sitting in his lap, bare to the waist, his hands and mouth working ferociously at her flabby sagging tits as she watched bug-eyed the action under the lamp, her hand down inside her panties obviously fondling her cunt. Mike and Barbara, sitting in the front row: she'd unzipped his pants, her hand held onto his dick as if she was afraid she'd lose it, while his hand over hers moved it on the shaft, jacking it with bursts of fury, his other hand around her neck, inside her bra, digging, mashing into the fat soft globes of tits.
"Querido, querido!" Carmela sobbed, her muscles fighting, the passions building, screaming inside her to be let loose, to roam alive in her brain, to touch every breadth and depth of consciousness with untold beauties and pleasures of her ecstatic deliverance. Again the noises, the words, the sobs, and grimaces told of her approaching climax. In a loud cry it was on her again, shuddering through her frame like a hot chill, touching every pore and lifting it into orgastic delights.
Querido, his head shifting, his nose and throat combining in a weird, eerie sound of tortuous pleasure, his loins haunching in a rhythm of his own, haunching, quivering, shuddering with the feeling he was experiencing as his mistress came for the second time-and then, even as her body jerked slower and slower on his dick, his haunches stilled, straining upward, straining, straining, and in a sudden flashing gush of animal joy he too reached the peak, his semen shooting like a geyser, lifting the girl impaled on him inches with the force of it.
Carmela really screamed then, hysterically, screaming and laughing at the same time, totally oblivious to everyone and everything except for the pleasures streaming into her womb and soul and flushing out again and down her legs like the sudden bursting of a dam.
The frail, fiftyish man groaned, slipping down in his seat, pushing down on the girl's head in his lap, holding her head on his prick as he came, shooting into her mouth as she tried to fight him off. Other moans in the audience said others were involved in their own pleasures. Mike seemed drained of every emotion as Barbara's hand jacking his prick speeded and the semen came spurting out of the head of his cock in a six-foot stream, while she herself was hardly aware of it, her eyes glassy, her attentions never wavering from Carmela's body and the pony's phallus.
Carmela fell forward, resting her head on Querido's belly for a moment, and then rolled off him, to lay on the hay on her back, her firm breasts heaving with her filling lungs, her body shining from sweat and rose oil. Querido rolled the opposite way, and first his rear legs and then his front ones lifted him to a standing position. He stood quietly, looking contentedly at his audience, his tail swishing back and forth across his haunches, his now limp priapus dangling more than a foot, the thick syrupy come still dripping out of the end of it. Long moments passed, and then Carmela got to her feet. Without a backward glance she strode to the archway, lifted the arm off the record-nobody had noticed that the music had stopped long ago, the only sound from the machine the scratching static-and disappeared behind the drapes. As if in, reply to a summons, Querido followed her, his tail still swinging heartily until it passed behind the heavy drapes.
In the shower Carmela soaped herself down, and mixing douche powder with water in the bulb of a douching syringe, inserted it into her vagina and flushed out the orifice, filling the bulb again and repeating the measure. Even over the sound of the spray she could hear the usual hassle Rico was having as he cleared the room of their "clients." When she turned the water off there was only the low distant murmur from upstairs and the steady munching of Querido at his oats. She dried herself off, tossed the towel aside, and lighted a cigarette.
Thinking herself alone in the basement, the sudden sound of a chair scraping across the floor startled her. "Quienes?"
Barbara's voice answered, "It's ... us! Sorry if we scared you!"
Carmela walked through the drapes, unmindful of her nudity. Mike and Barbara sat in the same chairs they had been in for the performance. "How much did you slip Rico to stay here?"
Mike rose. "Don't be angry with him. Ten bucks for two minutes-not a bad price." His eyes seemed unable to rise above the level of her nipples. "Just to talk. A business proposition."
Carmela spoke with smoke coming out of her lungs. "What kind of business?"
Barbara's eyes were still glassy, as if she were seeing a performance of her own. "We want to buy your pony."
Carmela grinned at her, shaking her head. "He's not for sale."
"We'll give you two-thousand dollars for it." The svelte woman tried hard to hide the anxiousness in her voice.
Leering, Carmela suggested, "Why don't you save your money and try it with a Coke bottle?"
"Five thousand!" Barbara's voice did crack that time.
Carmela laughed. "Did you see the suckers in here tonight? After paying the house cut, after Rico gets his, after all the. expenses, Querido earns for me a thousand dollars American every week! You think I give him up? Bet your sweet pussy, baby, I don't sell him. Not for ten thousand, not for twenty." She cocked her head to one side. "Maybe twenty-five. Maybe I sell him then. You want to pay twenty-five?"
Barbara looked at Mike, questioning.
"You must be joking!" he said astounded-to Barbara, not Carmela.
Carmela dragged deep from her cigarette. "Okay. Then go get a fucking horse some other place. This one is mine."
Barbara stood up, her purse falling to the floor. "Please! You can get another one, train it just as you did this one!"
Carmela sighed. "I got another show to do, and I want to rest. Get out of here. Por favor."
Slowly, Barbara turned and with Mike grabbing her purse and pushing her along, the two of them climbed the stairs and went through the doorway, the din from the upper level crashing down the stairs as the door opened, shutting off again as it closed with finality.
Carmela lowered herself to the hay beneath the spotlight, shading her eyes from the glare. Laying flat on her back, she finished her cigarette and flipped the butt aside. She lay quietly, not moving, dreaming, resting. Dreaming about the pleasures of a gigantic animal prick gouging at her insides, ravaging her mind, resting up for the second moment that night when she would realize that dream.
It was after three o'clock in the morning when Carmela douched and showered for the last time and dressed in the slacks, blouse, and sandals for the walk home. Rico stayed behind to settle with Luis; he drove the car home anyway, after using it all night to ferry the suckers from the clubs in the center of town. She tied the halter around Querido's neck and led him up the wooden ramp to the alley.
The pony stepped into the alleyway, and balked. His head lifted and fell between his forelegs, a front hoof clawed at the ground.
"Que pasa, mi querido?" What's the matter? Carmela peered up and down the passage into pitch-black darkness. The sky was lighted only by the stars, silhouetting roofs and fences and the electric wires and poles that marked the alley.
The first nights she'd made this walk she'd been deathly afraid; now she was just tired, anxious to get home. Still The air was cold. Chilly now. A slight breeze wandered in from the ocean a few miles away.
Carmela shivered.
Again the pony snorted and clawed at the ground. From behind a fence across the way a dog began to bark; another dog and still another picked it up, yapping and barking savagely further down the alley.
"Vamos, Queridol" Let's go. "Es solamente un perro." Only a dog. She started up the alley, the rope over her shoulder leading the pony who plodded along laggardly. Her eyes squinted into the darkness ahead. She could see nothing. But she could feel, feel ... something. The night itself, threatening. Eyes on her. Her steps hurried.
Oh, hell, she was just being silly. It had been a good night, her cut from Rico should be five or six hundred, U.S. To the side a sound, a viciously barking dog, set up a din almost in her ear, and the suddenness of it made her jump. She forced herself to stop. "Be cool, baby," she whispered aloud, in English, trying to quiet her heart pounding in her throat. "Be cool." She picked up the pace of her steps again, her sandals crunching quickly in the dust, followed by the pony's quick-plodding hoof beats.
Then from behind her the grind and whirr of a starting engine. Headlights lighted up the alley like a lonely floodlight from the stage of a darkened theater, stark and eerie. Carmela forced herself not to turn, to keep her eyes on the long grotesque shadows cast ahead of her and the pony.
It was danger, she knew it was danger! Querido had warned her and she had felt it herself but ignored it, passed it off, and now-oh, God! She lengthened her strides. Her legs moved faster, trying to keep pace with her racing pulse. The engine raced behind her and the lights moved closer, closer, the shadows shortening now, falling back toward her as a weight would fall from a cliff.
Laughter, more than one laugh; then a drunken voice: "Hey, honeybun! Wha's your hurry?"
And then another voice: "Yeah, baby, wait up, we want to talk to you." Yet another: "Yeah. Talk."
A car door opened and closed again. She heard a thud as if somebody had jumped from a high place. Two shadows, one on either side of her, moved up beside her own.
Fifty meters to the gate, fifty meters. She'd never be able to make it. She wouldn't be able to outrun them, she knew it, and she couldn't leave Querido, she couldn't. Bluff it, that was all she could do. She glanced back over her shoulder. The blackbeard in the turtleneck "Tank" they called him-grinned lopsidedly at her, moving casually up alongside the pony toward her. Beyond him, into the glare of lights, she saw it was a pickup truck. Appropriate, she thought, her face contorting wryly. Others were standing in the bed, looking over the cab at her-she could see three of them there, two more inside the truck. Another one was weaving on the opposite side of the pony from Tank, moving up on her.
She fought to make her voice calm. "Go home, amigos. It's late."
Tank, staggering, moved up beside her, sliding his arm around her waist, moving his hand up to her breast, cupping it and lifting. "Now, honeybun, you ain't leaving without saying good night, are you?"
The other one, tall and blond, snatched the rope out of her hands. " 'Sides. Wha's this sumbitch got that we ain't got?"
Carmela twisted out of Tank's grip, fear and anger boiling in her belly. "Give me that!" She reached for the rope.
The blond one dodged her, laughing boisterously. "She wants her fucking horse, man! Maybe she's sumbitching ready to go again, hot and bothered. She wants to get fucked, man!"
"Give me!" Arms grabbed her from behind, twisting her around. The bearded face went into hers, the open mouth moving on her cheek to her mouth as she squirmed, her head twisting. Her fingernails went up to the face, lashing out, slashing, going for his eyes but digging into flesh, her feet kicking out, her body squirming to get free.
"Eeyii!" His scream in her ears was choked off by the blinding flash of pain as he hit her in the face, her eyes seeing red, her ears ringing, blocking out all sounds except those inside her head. She felt her knees sagging. Again a flashing, blinding, stinging pain in her head as something collided with the other side of her face. She felt something catch her, as she fell numbly, and lift her up. Trying to shake it off, shake away the pain and the din in her ears, the red blindness in her eyes, trying to regain her sanity!
She was hurtling through space! Her head hit something and then her back, hard and flat, and then she was bouncing, swaying. Groggy, so groggy. They had her in the truck and it was moving. She could hear them talking but couldn't make out the words. She managed to get her head up, her eyes rolling around in her reeling mind-Querido, was all she could think of. And in that one spinning glimpse before she sank back down again she saw him, the halter tied to the back of the truck, his head and neck over the tailgate shining ghostly red in the glare of the taillights.
When her mind spun around again with a jerk she knew the truck had stopped. Hands that had been holding her grabbed at the blouse and ripped it open. Pain dug into her shoulders and back as hands ripped at her bra. Hands groped and squeezed and gouged at her breasts and pinched at her nipples. Other hands ripped at the waistband of her slacks, at the zipper, while others yanked at the legs, pulling them off her, letting her feet fall limply back to the bed of the truck. The panties were snatched away.
Tank's voice again, "I'll show you, you horse-fucking bitch!" His breath in her nostrils stank with stale whiskey and then his mouth was on hers, his beard coarse around her lips. Hands pulled her legs apart. A hand groped between her naked thighs, into her dry vulva, fumbling for the hole. A finger drove inside the hole, gouging, the nail ripping flesh. Her cunt was dry, blisteringly sore from three times with the pony, and it hurt. Her legs were spread wider, her thighs rending as if they were coming out of their joints. Then a prick replaced the finger.
Even with the pain, even with the threat of more in the madness of a nightmare, Carmela had a strong impulse to laugh, to laugh out loud. This man, with his puny man-prick-he would show her? Shit.
Her head, her back from the weight on her, his body banging into her-she ached all over, no consciousness beyond the pain. His dick rammed hard into the tender raw flesh of her cunt, it screamed in her brain in pain. She felt it all right. She felt pain. But even the pain from her raw cunt was no more than that in her pounding temples. It was a surprise feeling his silly attempts at all. Banging her, his sour breath coming in gusts, squashing her ass into the hard boards of the flooring, he poked her, banging, fucking. She could feel him tightening, getting more rigid with each stroke, and all she could think of was having him off her, out of her.
The others chanted to their buddy. "Give it to her, Tank!"
"Fuck her good, boy!" All of them drunk, weaving as they passed a bottle. Her eyes failed to register a difference between them, they were silhouettes, maddening dark, blank puppets of hell. Somebody poured some of the whiskey down her throat, spilling it over her face to run down in her hair. Even as their buddy fucked her, their hands roved her body, digging between them at her tits, gouging into the flesh. "You sons of bitches!" she murmured in Spanish, without strength to make herself heard.
Tank grunted, heaving on her, pounding harder into the soft meat of her ravaged pussy-and then he was through.
"I'm next!"
"No you ain't, man, I'm next!" Somebody climbed on her, repeating the movements of the one before him; Carmela didn't bother even opening her eyes. At least it was easier now. Tank's semen had lubricated her vagina, it was no longer quite so painful. She could hardly even feel it. Again whoever was on her came, and somebody else took his place, to run through the same routine. It was going to be all right.
But then: "Turn her over, Jake, I'm getting mine in her ass, I ain't taking that sloppy horse-stretched cavern of a cunt." Hands, turning her over, hands grabbing her hips, lifting her ass in the air until she was poised painfully on her knees. "Hold it right there, pig!" A prick, into the semen-drenched lips of her labia but only wiping through, up across the sensitive membrane, poking at her asshole! Then thrusting!
She wanted to stay quiet-knowing that the more her involvement the greater the encouragement-but she whimpered, she couldn't help it, and then, when his dick rammed through, stuck up her ass, she screamed. Sobs choked in her throat, uncontrollable sobs, and between her racking lungs she cursed them, "You bastards! You rotten mother-fucking sons of bitches!" The sudden jab in her virgin hole: it hurt, ripping, tearing, flesh, blazing fire going in, almost as bad as the first time with the pony.
"Whee-ee, Gus, you must have got her where it hurts!"
"'At's right, honeybun, you jis cuss up a storm!"
Her knees hurt, her face, her belly, her cunt, the rim of her ass where that thing had-the prick in her asshole, stroking, going deep a weird sensation, touching her as if it were not in just her ass but her pussy as well, she could feel it inside her pussy, through the membrane, and the idea of it, the forbidden hole, the sensitive rim, the size of it pressuring through as if nothing divided her ass from her cunt. Tears streamed down her face; she hadn't wanted to acknowledge it, any feeling at all, but she couldn't help it-and not only did she feel it, it felt good! A moan choked-out of her throat, her ass wiggled as if by itself, settling further on his prick, settling into it, meeting its strokes, wanting it, but in wanting it was the humiliation. Her cry was a forlorn wail, "Oh, God! Madre de Dios!"
"Look a here, bastards, this pig is digging it, digging it!" Laughs followed the words, and other words, "Get it!"
"Fuck her, man!"
Hands pulled at her arms which supported her head. "No use letting this other end go to waste." A hand grabbing in her hair, lifting her head. A penis, rubbery stiff, plopped against her face, rubbed down the length of her nose, probing for her mouth. The hand tightened in her hair. Carmela groaned. A voice low and threatening: "Listen, pig, you bite me and I'll cut you. You unnerstand? I'll cut up your face, I'll carve my initials in your belly, I'll slice your heart out, and I'll hang you on a hook to bleed dry, you hear me?"
Carmela nodded, the sobs choking in her throat.
The head of the prick slid along her lip. "Open up, bitch!" She opened her lips, the prick gliding inside. "Suck it, goddamn you!" A hand slapped at the side of her face, stinging. "I said suck it, you fucking slut!"
Her mouth went to work automatically, going down on it, sucking it, her tongue lapping around the head, tasting it, her head bobbing now-and all the while the prick in her asshole unrelenting, melting her insides with the strokes. Sobbing, moaning, sucking, her mouth slobbering around the prick in her mouth-two pricks, the one in one end, the second in the other, the idea of it! Goddamn them, goddamn them, she was liking it! Liking it I The bastards were raping her, beating her, she hated them, she wished she could kill them, see their guts spilling out of their bleeding bellies, see them with their pricks and balls cut off and stuffed in their dead mouths and their heads on a spike at her front door-what they were doing to her, but worst of all she was liking it! Enjoying it, getting her own.
She could feel the passion rising, rushing in as if the pricks controlled the valves. A gurgled wail of pain and humiliation sprayed out of her mouth around the dick she sucked, even as her naked buttocks writhed and squirmed and quivered, meeting the lunging prick, driving it deep in her ass, wanting it deeper, feeling it hard and wanting it harder, even as her mouth went crazy on the prick in it, her head bobbing furiously now, wanting the thing to come, wanting the taste of it, wanting to suck it off as if by some means the orgasm of its owner would be bringing on her own.
The fingers in her hair loosened, moving to the sides and grabbing her ears, ramming her head on the cock, forcing it deeper and deeper in her mouth until she was almost gagging but she didn't care, not now. The prick in her ass pounding as two pricks, one in her asshole, the other in her cunt, bringing her to a climax, the ecstasy building in her, she was coming, nothing could bother her now! She was coming, reaching for it as she never had before, in a way she'd never known it before and she was loving it, loving it, her body teeming with the god-awful strangeness of it, and then she was soaring, flying, soaring totally out of it, her head banged all the way down on the cock she was sucking, taking it all in, her mouth hitting hair-covered flesh at the bottom of the shaft, the head of it down in her esophagus cutting off her wind, feeling as if it had touched her womb, as if both pricks had converged in her middle, merging, joining, knowing too that both pricks, the one in her ass and the one in her throat, were coming-like her own tortured humiliated ravaged soul was coming, and she didn't care!
Gagging, choking, feeling the come backing up in her throat and not caring, totally numb to anything but ecstasy, the sweet goodness spreading like jam from her ass through her cunt to her womb and tingling electrically from there to every cell of her being. The gagging muffled spurts and wails and screams coming out of her lungs, the choking wheezing spray of come out of her throat, her windpipe, through her nose, out of her opened wailing mouth-a mottled barrage, a bombardment of pain and pleasure and humiliation and impassioned ecstasy, an ecstasy so consuming it was eating her completely, swallowing her up in its black womb of glorious warmth and peace. And with her last moment of consciousness, of sanity in the ecstasy, she gave herself over to it with love.
Gradually reviving, she was on her back again. Somebody else now, bending her legs up with his shoulders, bending her almost double, her hips off the bed of the truck, the pain in her back excruciating-but the prick in her cunt hammering deep in that position, and her cunt flesh was well lubed now. There was no pain at all in her pussy-only a warmth, and even as she felt it, it splayed into quivers of sensual pleasure. She might as well face it, it felt good. She was getting raped, she'd been raped. Nothing she could do about it. Nothing but-like an old joke-relax and enjoy it. Her arms went around her attacker, her hands, clutching at his buttocks-he hadn't even lowered his pants, just opened his fly. Her back was killing her but her clitoris, the sore-sensitivity of her comeladen vagina, so good, so fucking, fucking good!
Through it all Querido had strained at the halter, snorting and pawing skittishly, swinging his haunches around and kicking, trying to get his hooves into something. Carmela had been only vaguely aware of him at best. But now, as if by some change in the scents in the air, after she resigned herself to her circumstances and decided to try to enjoy them as best she could, Querido began to quiet down; still restless but not as frantically fearful or angry. As the sky began to brighten with the morning, he was almost calm.
But morning meant something else to the men in the truck. Carmela still lay on her back, but someone had let her use her clothes as a cushion against the severe harshness of the truck bed. She had stopped counting who or how many times she'd sucked and been fucked and sucked and fucked again. She was exhausted and sore, emotionally and physically satiated, almost unconscious. Dazed, she was lifted over the side of the truck, looking into eyes that now avoided hers. She was on a hill at the south of the city, on a little-used dirt road. But she'd make it back, she told herself, even if she had to walk. It never occurred to her that she would not have Querido with her. She was calm, not panicked. The blond one, not looking at her, threw her clothes to land at her feet.
She staggered to the corner of the pickup truck, to Querido. "Don't touch the horse, honey bun." Tank's eyes jeered at her. "That thing's worth a heap of money to us if we can get it to Diego. Some people made us an offer. Two-fifty apiece. That's a right nice little price for a damn pony." He laughed, a hoarse gritty sound. "You don't think we went to all this trouble just to gangbang your little chicana ass, do you, pig?"
Carmela panicked then. She grabbed at the rope, working at it furiously with her fingers, trying to untie it. She didn't see the blow coming-the fist hit her solidly in the temple. She sank to the ground, barely conscious.
"Okay, man, le's split!" Tank laughing, the others solemn but unaiding, the truck drove off, spitting dirt and pebbles back from under the tires. The rope stretched taut, the pony was half led, half dragged at a loping canter behind it, straining to be loose.
Carmela later remembered crying openly, forsakenly, before she passed out. She was still lying there nude, in a coma, when several hours later a cabdriver on his way to work spotted her and sped her to a hospital.
The next day a small item appeared in the local paper about a girl kidnapped and raped but resting comfortably in the hospital. The San Diego press carried another story: seven drunken sailors had tried to smuggle an Appaloosa pony across the border at Tijuana as a prank. After a chaotic chase by border guards the pony escaped into the desert hills north of the border. The sailors did not.
CHAPTER FOUR
Angela held out the tiny ball of raw hamburger to the cocker spaniel. "Come on, Zero ... good doggie!" The animal, wagging its tail, strolled casually up the bank of the stream, not particularly anxious to be fooled again. Angela sat on the ground, leaning back against a small tree, almost completely concealed by the bushes that lined both sides of the stream for miles. Her geography book lay beside her un opened. Sitting with her knees up and her legs spread, the tiny skirt she wore bunched around the tops of her thighs. She wore no panties; the light young fuzz of her pubic mound could hardly be seen at all above the rosy-red lips of her vulva. "That's a good doggie, Zero ... come and get it."
As the dog reached her, sniffing at her fingers, her hand dropped to her crotch, poking the fresh raw meat into her vagina, smearing the meaty scent on her fingers through the crease, over her clitoris, and down in the crack between the cheeks of her slender ass. Her hips scuttled forward, moving lower, her legs spreading wider, giving her pet more room to eat. "Nice doggie, Zero!"
The cold nose touched the flaming vaginal lips and Angela whimpered through her tightly pursed lips. The tongue flicked out, licking over the clitoris, and she almost swooned with the feeling. "Eat it, Zero ... that's it, eat it, girl!" The dog rooted its snout into the soft meaty flesh, its tongue thrusting deep into her vagina, scooping at the meat she'd placed there for it to eat out. Her voice a throaty whisper, she talked to the dog. "Lick it, Zero, eat it all ... lick it clean!"
Her head propped against the tree forced her chin down against her chest above and between the small budding breasts that protruded under her sweater. Her hands went up under the fabric, squeezing the buds through the bra she wore for youthful vanity, not practicality-feeling the strange new feeling in the nipples as she rubbed them. "Sweet Zero, good doggie!" The dog lapped at her red pussy until her knees quivered and jerked with the ferocity of the sensation, her legs wanting to clamp shut to contain the beauty of the feeling within her vagina. Ooh, so pitifully, she was going off, feeling it coming, feeling it deep in her pussy!
Then she sat up suddenly, her eyes wide! A sound in the bushes! Somebody, something there! Angela pushed the dog away, her skin flushing, still tingling beneath the skirt as she pulled it down, scrambling to her feet. It wasn't fair, not at that moment!
A pony broke through the brush on the other side of the stream. At the water's edge it lowered its head to drink. Only then was Angela aware of the way her heart had been hammering in her breast. She eased out a buxom sigh of relief. Only a pony. Zero snarled and barked, yapping away at the animal across the stream. One glance from the pony, and then it ignored the dog. Raised in a land of fierce canine monsters, this one seemed a puppy to the pony. It continued to drink its fill.
"Shut up, Zero!" Angela commanded. "It's only a pony!" She watched the animal as it drank. The dog wandered curious, back and forth at the edge of the water, glancing timidly first at the pony, then at Angela. The pony's coat was matted with dirt; a frayed rope hung loosely about its neck, but it was obvious even to Angela that the pony had gone a long while without care. "Haven't you got a home, little pony?"
Angela kicked of her shoes and, talking softly, waded across the stream. "Easy, pony, I won't hurt you." The pony continued to drink until she was almost on it, then raised its head and examined her curiously, not in the least afraid of her. The girl first caught the rope-in the event it changed its mind about stayingand then she petted its snout lovingly. The pony's head dipped to her bosom, found little of interest, and dipped lower. It sniffed between her legs, its snout rising under her skirt. Its cold nose and lips quivering, riding up the young girl's thighs to her naked crotch, sent shivers crawling all over her body. She stepped back, pulling its head out quickly, afraid of being seen out in the open like this.
She rubbed her hands along the pony's sides. "Are you a girl pony or a-" she was too startled by what she saw to finish the sentence. She had seen boys' penises, even played with a couple of them, all of them no bigger than her little finger, and she had seen her daddy's-not all of it, but the bulge, with the tip of it sticking out from under the leg of his shorts-but this! Her eyes grew very round.
The pony had smelled the woman smell, the scent of sex. When he'd first dipped his head between her legs his prick had swelled to an anxious erection, and now it arched hard and stiff and ready.
Angela reached out her hand and touched it with the ends of her fingers. The massive cylinder of meat throbbed as if it had a life apart from the animal that bore it. Her fingers closed around it. Her head bent to examine it. She moved it first one way and then another, looking at it from every angle, her eyes, her jaw, in awe of it.
Suddenly she straightened, remembering where she was, and flushed, checked around her to see that nobody was watching. Pausing only a moment she took the end of the rope and led the pony across the stream. "Come on, boy. You're coming home with me."
"Are you serious?" Vera dropped another ice cube in the glass and handed it to Lon, her husband.
Paul laughed embarrassedly. "It's really weird! I'm not exaggerating. Ask Shirl. Every time she or Angela gets close to it, it gets a hard-on."
Shirl crossed her legs,.aware and excited by the way Lon's eyes always seemed to be darting between her thighs. "Not only that, but he sticks his nose in here"-Shirl indicated the deep tanned cleft between her breasts in the dress' low-cut square bodice-"and apparently tries to undress me."
"Well he's got the right idea," Lon muttered, grinning. "Lucky pony! I should've been a pony."
Vera refilled a glass for one of the other guests. "Well you got part of it licked, you're already a jackass."
All four of the couples laughed.
"Really, it used to scare us at first," Paul continued, "Angela spending so much time with it, when the damned thing acts like a fourlegged sex maniac."
"It's the two-legged kind you have to worry about," somebody added.
"And she's out with it somewhere from the time she gets out of school until dark. She rides it everywhere."
"You haven't been able to find out where it came from? Who it belongs to?"
Paul took a last drag off his cigarette and stabbed it out in the ashtray. "I've had a classified in the San Diego paper lost and found for a week, for anybody who's lost a pony to call me at my office. No answer yet. Thirty miles of desert between where we live in El Cajon and the Mexican border-hundreds of square miles that way, hundreds of range and groveland the other. It could have come from anywhere. Obviously, from the rope around his neck, he belongs to somebody. Anyway, Angela loves it, of course, so until somebody claims it, it'll go right on eating us out of house and home."
Angela turned on the water in the tub, took off her robe, and climbed in. She lay down on her back, raising her legs and sliding her body down until the hot stream of gushing water splashed over the sensitive red lips of her pussy. Her feet high, her legs doubled back at the thighs, her ass raised meeting the cascading waters, she lay there, dreaming, feeling the splayed pleasures rising inside her, her hair wafting in the rising waters around her head, watching the pink nipples of her peached-size breasts, watching idly as the water level rose.
Zero lay in his usual spot, waiting for her to bathe, aware that when she was finished she would go to the refrigerator and they would play games again. Though she'd been playing with him less and less recently.
Angela thought about her pony. She loved to ride him, her body swaying back and forth with his steps, her pussy, her clitoris rubbing against the ridge of his spine sending shivers of joy through, her. She liked to let the pony eat her pussy, too, and it was exciting, but he wasn't as good at it as Zero. His tongue didn't come way out of his mouth like Zero's, to lap inside her pussy.
She wished instead of a pony she'd found an anteater. The one at the zoo had a tongue as long as her arm, as long as the pony's dick. She licked the pony's dick, she liked to play with it, but what good was it? Yes, he should have been an anteater.
She began to manipulate her clitoris with the fingers of one hand, her other imitating an anteater, inside her pussy fingering it, exploring the hole, while under the thrusting spray of hot water her asshole tingled with sensation. She stopped thinking about the pony then, or the dog, or the anteater, and concentrated wholly on the ecstasy that rippled throughout her young slender body.
Later, a towel wrapped around her wet hair, she went to the refrigerator and pinched off a small bite of raw hamburger. "Here, girl," she called, "here, Zero." She let the dog get a whiff of the meat. "Time to go to bed."
Saying good-bye to the last of their guests, Lon let Vera see them out; he rushed to the phone and called a couple in nearby San Diego. "Hello, David? Get Betty on the extension. This is gonna kill you."
Vera returned to the living room grinning wryly. "Are you calling our local canine corps?"
Lon grinned back at her. "Yeah." And into the phone, "Hi, Betty. Listen, you're always talking about Brainy, that fucking Doberman pincher of yours, getting a hard-on around you and you taking it on dog fashion? Have I got a story for you!"
Lon rang the bell of apartment 5D, giving Vera a reassuring squeeze around her waist. His erection in his pants was stifling. He hadn't gotten rid of it hardly since Betty called the day before and invited them over. "Kitty and Matt are coming down from L.A. Kitty likes Brainy too, so this time I'll let you watch," Betty had told Lon. Vera was such a goddamned sorehead about the stupid goddamn dog, Betty wouldn't do it with the thing unless Vera would and Vera wouldn't. She said it was for the dogs. She'd fucked every swinging male-and a few females-from Tucson to Catalina, but she "drew the line on dogs" adding, "although I don't know why-I ball David, and he's built as skinny as one."
"If you expect me to let that fucking mutt climb my ass, Lonnie, you're out of your goddamn gourd." Vera shook her head disgustedly, the flip of her hairstyle bouncing jauntily.
Lon kissed her on the end of her nose. "You don't have to. Forget it." He punched at the buzzer again. "Wonder what's keeping them?"
"Maybe they got mugged by a couple of tough fleas."
From inside the apartment a muffled voice asked, "Who is it?"
Vera called out before Lon had a chance to say anything, "The SPCA!"
The sound of a chain dropping and a tumbler falling. Dave opened the door, hiding himself behind it. His hair was mussed, his face sweaty. "Hope you don't mind, kids, we sort of started without you."
Vera replied dryly, "Well, we could always go to a kennel."
Closing the door, Dave, nude and sporting a half hard bouncing with his steps, kissed Vera on the cheek and led them inside, "Doesn't anybody ever fuck anymore?" Vera asked Dave after smelling the scent on his face.
A nude trio sat in the living room on an open sofabed. Betty stood up to greet the couple, smiling a greeting. Her heavy pendulous breasts swayed over rolls of fat laying like bicycle tubes around her hips. "Vera!" she said, her eyes not leaving Lon, her mouth stretching to kiss him warmly, teasingly on the lips. "So glad you could make it!" Running her arm through Lon's, she introduced Matt and Kitty.
Matt's features were boyish, but deeply etched lines placed him at over forty. He was tall and slender, well tanned except for a white band around his middle where his trunks had kept away the sun.
Kitty was big.. Extraordinarily well proportioned, for the most part, but big. And round.
Her face was round, her blondish hair cut short and pouffed out with the tips curling into her cheeks; her shoulders were round, her hips ballooned out lazily; her buttocks were two perfect half globes; her breasts were like two supersize cantalopes, the nipples cherries. She was like an artist's exercise in pneumatic concentrics, covered with thick bouyant layers of foam rubber. Nothing sagged. She looked warmly soft, but firm and floatable, like a life raft to somebody drowning. Her complexion was light rose, like an infant's. "Hello, there!" she exclaimed in a high squeaky baby-doll voice. Her expression seemed to be suggesting, "Why don't you come up and see me sometime!"
Lon dropped his jacket on a chair and allowed Betty to seat him beside Kitty, who leaned forward for a lingering hello kiss on the lips, her big globulous breasts rubbing against his arm. "Do you"-in the middle of the sentence her big round blue eyes shifted from Lon to Vera-"believe in sex at first sight?"
Vera picked up an idle drink from the coffee table and took a sip. "Yes, unless you're a switch-hitter. It's nice to be able to tell which is which." She smiled at Kitty to take the edge off her words. Damn, she hated the first little while at swinging gatherings, and coming in cold when the others were already undressed. And she hated people who fancied they believed in the "direct approach. "Well, hell, she thought, she might as well get her feet wet-or other more appropriate parts of her anatomy. She moved to Matt's side of the bed and sat down. She'd hardly moved a step in that direction before Matt's penis, lying lazily limp across his thigh, began a spiralling shift across his belly swelling to ... comfortable proportions, were the words Vera used in her mind.
Dave asked the new arrivals what they'd like to drink, and still sporting his half hard, sauntered over to the bar.
Matt sat forward, smiling, and slowly lowered the zipper at the back of Vera's dress. "Can I help you with this?" It was halfway down before the words came out.
For a long moment Vera looked at the lines in his face, beleaguered lines in his forehead, laugh lines at the corners of his eyes and lips. His face was inches from hers. She closed the distance, her mouth moving leisurely to his. His hands drew the top of the dress over her shoulders and off her arms to lay in her lap. She turned, his arms cradling her, his fingers fumbling with the hooks of her bra, and then it too was off. His hands explored the soft caress able flesh as his mouth explored her mouth, their tongues meeting, merging, their arms and hands and fingers, gentle, caressing but insistent, wanting.
Betty groaned. "Goddamn it! And I know better, too! Every goddamn time three couples get together, somebody ends up with their own lousy, no-good husband!"
Kitty sighed, Tossing a "that's life" glance at Lon, continuing to fumble with the buttons of his shirt, she took care of a solution. "If you'll take over here, Betts, Dave and me are going to pick up where we left off."
"Hear hear!" Dave yelled from the corner.
Kitty responded baby-dollishly. "Not 'there there,' silly-here here!" She lay back, spreading her legs, and pointed with her thumb between her big round thighs.
To Vera the arrangement was perfect. She raised her hips off the bed and slipped her dress and panties down her legs and off in one easy motion, feeling Matt's tongue tracing her spine, sending shivers up and down it. She knew she looked good. A long slender body, as deeply tanned as her partner, except for her there were no white suit marks, she'd gotten hers in a nudist club. She also knew how Long deplored fat women. Betty was fat. Some satisfaction in that.
Giggling, Vera threw herself on top of the man beside her, smothering her giggles with his mouth, feeling his body crushing into the length of her own, feeling his hard prick pressing against her belly from her crotch to her navel. Nice, she thought, his lean body, his fat prick, his hot lush mouthand hot hands, going immediately to the cheeks of her ass, cupping, squeezing, kneading, crushing her tighter against him. Her tits against his chest were beginning to glow; in seconds they'd be on fire. Already she could feel the heat inside her vagina thawing it out, melting, the wet molten juices wetting the lips of her cunt. "Hmmmm!" she said into his mouth, her thighs clenching together in sensual reflexes.
She broke away from his mouth and his arms, rising on her knees to straddle him, reaching for his prick. She sank back, resting her ass on his legs, and bent low, swooping her head down to take the prick between her lips, wetting it with her mouth-not that she really needed to help it along-and straightened again, moving the head of it to the crevice between her thighs, rubbing it through her vulval lips, back and forth over the hole, her eyes closing, her lips smiling wide as she stopped it at the hole and slowly settled her body on it, savoring every fraction of an inch of travel into her vagina, feeling the sensations at the lower front of the orifice steady as the prick moved by it and along each fiber of the roof muscles, gliding, her thighs pulsing with emotions of their own. Hands moved up her thighs as she straddled him, moved up her waist, caressed her small but perfectly formed breasts, his fingertips teasing the taut nipples. His prick, she felt it all the way in, her pelvis locked against his, the head of the prick pushing strong against the back of her vagina.
His arms pulling her down, she fell into them, locking her arms around his shoulders as he rolled over on top of her, the warm filling prick inside her animate to its power, driving as his pelvis directed, slowly, firmly, powerfully, his thrusts deep in her cunt lulling her sensibilities into abandonment and yet building, creating the fiercest needs simultaneously, supercharged by the snap-glide past her clitoris and the collision of his pelvis against it. "Yessss!" she hissed. "Oh, Matt, yesss!" Her hips went wild, swinging, rotating, grinding, bringing the sought response in feeling from the prick inside her singing cunt.
Beside them, Betty on her hands and knees, Lon bending over her fat ass, his hands under her filled (and overflowing) with soft, flabby, abundantly fat tits, his pelvis slap-slapping rhythmically against her soft, flabby, abundantly fat ass. David knelt on the floor between two rounded thighs as Kitty sat on the edge of the bed, leaning back on one elbow, her other hand cupping and hefting her own globulous breast, occasionally wetting her finger in her mouth and returning It to speed furiously round and round the nipple. She leered crazily at the hot eyes peering at her from above the muff of her mons. Little girl noises, baby-dollish words-"You like to suckum big hot fucking mommy, wittle David?"-poured out of her mouth in gusts of maniacally frantic gasps for breaths. In what seemed only seconds the words grew less and less intelligible and higher and higher in pitch. Tears rolled in her eyes as she went rigid all over, and in the tiniest voice imaginable a tightly constricted, "Ooohhhhh," dragging it out interminably, until her whole body began to relax, her voice reducing its level of pitch, the words becoming somewhat intelligible again.
David's head pulled away from her drenching wet cunt-her hands grabbed his head and pulled it right back into her cunt again. As he started sucking again resignedly, her hand went back to the fury at her tits. "Oh, that was terwific, David. Won't you do it for big fucking hot mommy again, sweetums?" wiggling her ass harder into his face. It was six or eight orgasms later that David collapsed panting to the floor, pleading for a rest. "Oh kiwi joy!" Kitty accused.
Lon was flat on his back as Betty bounced delightedly up and down on his dick, her breasts-and everything else attached, from her thighs to her ass, her hips, even her cheeks and her jaws-flopped and danced and jounced and jousled like some fantastic new dribbling superrubber plastic for use in making basketballs, with an expression on her face of total unadulterated bliss. Crying, biting her lip, flopping spastically now, convulsively, she brought on the heat of an orgasm, seeming to melt completely with it into a large mound of molten silly putty.
Kitty, on her knees, moved up in the bed to Lon. She kissed him savagely, and, lifting his head up, thrust one oversize cantaloupe-shaped tit in his mouth, then the other. With a "Do you mind, honey?" to Betty, not Lon, she straddled his head with her thighs and lowered her cunt to his mouth, dollish noises sucking between her teeth as she spread the lips of her cunt with her fingers and talked Lon into the target.
Betty's hands came up under Kitty's arms, grabbing her firm rounded tits as she would the handlebars of a bike as her climbing ride on Lon began again, Kitty squealing and relaxing against her.
Vera lay dreamily dazed beside Matt, her head resting on his arm, which reached over her shoulder, toying almost absentmindedly with the nipple of her breast. She held in her hand his half flaccid penis, still wet from their juices, not wanting to let go of it.
"You mind, love?" Dave crawled up on the bed between Vera's legs, his prick in his hand as if he were looking for a place to put it. "I'd like to get a little myself for a change."
Vera laughed and spread her legs for him. Still holding tight to the dick in her hand, her other hand went to Dave's, to guide it in the hole, raising her legs to accommodate him, raising them high and locking them around his ass, her heels riding in the crease of his buttocks. Matt started to draw his arm from beneath her head, but she held it, reinforcing his hand on her breast even as Dave's mouth went to hers. When Dave's skinny prick began to careen through her cunt, she squeezed Matt's hand onto her breast, squeezed his prick in her hand, feeling it grow harder and harder again.
Feeling her body responding to his carnal assault on it, Dave's mouth turned away from hers, his breath heavy in her ear. She turned to Matt, kissing his mouth, taking his tongue between her lips and sucking on it as she would his prick if it were in range. Her hand pulled on it gently, indicating she wanted it, her tongue rolling around her lips. Matt moved up in the bed, leaning against the back of it, turning his body slightly and guiding his prick into her mouth. "Yessss!" she said around it, and then her ass and her mouth began to take and bestow rewards on the two pricks that were the bearers of her pleasures, proclaiming with the abandoned vigorousness of her body, of her mouth, the look on her face, that as far as she was concerned, she was getting far better than it was possible for her to give. But she would try.
At some point during the proceedings Vera heard Lon ask Kitty, "Don't you ever ... just fuck?" And Kitty squealed with delight, "I thought nobody would ever ask me to!" She plopped herself backwards and raised her round bouyant thighs. Lon looked into them with a delighted but concerned expression, as if he'd love all that cotton-candy goodness but was just a little afraid of being smothered.
Then Betty's voice: "Shit! I'm gonna get the goddamn dog!"
The Doberman's coat was a shiny blue-black, his tongue hanging out as he panted as if it were two times too big for its mouth. He frisked around, his legs prancing, jumping up first on Betty as she brought him out, and then on Kitty, sitting on the end of the bed, wagging her tail as friskily as the dog. Brainy's long skinny dick stuck out of its foreskin like a pointed bright-orange lipstick from its case.
Betty dropped down on the floor, roughhousing with it, talking to it, and all the while the dog would sniff around her, especially between her legs, jump up on her and begin haunching with his hips, anxious to put his penis into something, knowing that it was there for him if he hit it, but not knowing where to aim. Kitty and Betty both laughed and squealed with delight, Kitty clapping her hands, "Let me, let me!" Lon sat up higher in the sofabed, his face fascinated.
"You ready?" Betty asked. Giggling and squealing the affirmative, Kitty dropped down to the floor on her hands and knees, her big round breasts swaying under her like two freaky cows standing side by side; her head turned bo vinely back behind her, watching the dog as Betty pushed its nose toward the rounded ass.
The dog sniffed tentatively, Kitty squealing delight every time the dog's nose touched the sensitive flesh between the cheeks of her ass. After only a couple of seconds sniffing around, the dog reared up on his hind legs and dropped his front ones across Kitty's back, his hips haunching at her steadily, his back legs taking one jerky step after another to get closer to her with his thrusting penis. Betty helped, moving him forward, guiding his wiry prick into Kitty's hole as she squealed. Twice it came out as the dog haunched, with Kitty squealing an entirely different sound on those occasions, Betty rushing to get it back in, her own eyes living the same feeling vicariously that Kitty was experiencing. The dog whimpered, its huffing, puffing, panting mouth blowing around its dangling flopping tongue; Kitty making almost the same sounds, except that by now they were coming a full octave higher and still rising.
The dog's whimpers rose higher, with an underlying gurgling that suggested something was happening, and then his rear legs flapping, hips jiggling, the thrusts slowed to a stop.
"Noooo!" Kitty yelled, her ass starting to wave like a battle pennant in a raging charge, bouncing, wriggling, writhing, squirming onto the dog's penis. Then something happened. Her ass went perfectly still, her jaw dropping open, her eyes getting wide enough for the balls to drop out of the sockets-and the shrill "Oohhh!" shrieked out of her, her ass really beginning to writhe.
The dog turned and dropped its forelegs over the side. "See, see! I told you!" Betty bellowed triumphantly.
Kitty's face was ecstatic as the dog moved, his prick hung up in the slot. Her ass swayed like the branches of a weeping willow, moving laggardly as the dog tugged, trying to get his prick free again. Throwing its hind leg over, turning ass to ass with Kitty, his trim, slender, glossy-haired flanks against the rosy hue of her pneumatic flesh, its legs pitching its body forward, putting weight on the prick, trying to get it out, but not trying so hard as to cause pain. And Kitty still going "Oohhh," coming from the now-balled up prick inside her, the prick that had entered her cunt like a ballpoint pen but had now swollen in the head inside her hole to the size of an oversize golf ball.
The pony had been almost forgotten during the evening. Lon had mentioned it briefly once or twice-the pony that got a hard-on every time it got near a woman. It was only after Kitty had fucked the dog, however, that anyone got really interested. Kitty, fresh from one memorable beastly experience, was hungry for another. "Why don't we claim it?" she asked Matt. They had friends who lived on a one-acre "ranch" in a small canyon above Woodland Hills outside L.A.; they could keep it there. Swinging friends would get a kick out of it. Obviously the couple who found it, Paul and-what was her name-Shirl, they couldn't use it, being non-swingers and all. She and Matt could pay them a hundred or so for keeping it, food and such, another hundred or two as a reward-they'd never be the wiser, and they'd have benefited from it too. Who'd be hurt?
Vera said nothing during the entire exchange. She didn't like it, it was sneaky. But she would keep her mouth shut. She listened as the five discussed it, deciding the best thing to do would be to rent a trailer, and Matt and Kitty just drive over and claim it-they could tell Shirl they saw the ad in the paper, go while Paul was at work. Not give them a chance to think about it, and maybe they wouldn't even ask for owner's papers or anything.
Slowly Vera drew her panties up her long slender legs, letting the elastic slide off her thumbs with a snap. She reached for her dress. Shirl and Paul: She was a hot-ass ready-toball little bitch; he was jealous as a high school sophomore. She wondered how Paul would be in bed.
"Time to go, baby?" Lon asked, obviously disappointed to see her dressing.
Vera sighed. She was too tired for wise-cracking a reply. "Time to go," she said simply.
At the first sound of the alarm Paul was awake, awakening with an erection as usual. He pushed the button to stop the buzzer and rolled sleepily over against his wife. Shirl lay on her side, facing away from him. He snuggled up against her backside, feeling the warm touch of her flesh against his, his prick wedging into the crack of her ass. His hand traced down her body, over her side, along her waist, leaping up the wide flagrant hips, curving deliciously across the gradual descent of her thighs. His hand reached further around her and returned across her belly to her lazily full-blown breasts, cupping the nearest one gently, squeezing, kneading, his finger toying with the nipple.
Shirl mumbled in her sleep and turned over on her back toward him, but her arm pushed him away.
Silently he eased down the covers. His fingers wandered, following the lines between the exquisite contrast of whiteness and tan, where her bikini had blocked the sun. They traced across the small depression between her breasts to her navel, his fingertips barely touching her skin. His eyes explored the tiny white hairs on her belly beneath her navel and the matty triangular patch of darker hair on her mons veneris. Down in between her thighs his fingers moved, reaching in, coming up in her crotch, forcing her thighs slightly farther apart for room, then touching the warm clammy lips of her pussy, touching her lovingly.
She stirred, and then was instantly awake. "Don't, Paul." She pushed his hand away. Swinging her legs over the side she got up.
Paul's eyes followed her body as it moved. She was gaining a little weight: a couple of inches too much around her hips, her breasts, dimples forming in her thighs, sagging a little, a bit of bulge in her belly. She needed some exercise or something. But she was still the sexiest woman Paul had ever seen, sexy as hell. "What's the matter, baby? Lately you've been-"
She reached for her robe. "I'm sorry, Paul, I
... can't explain it, I just don't feel like it. Okay?"
He sighed. "I feel like a celibate monk."
Shirl closed the door to the bathroom; moments later Paul heard the commode flushing. He looked down at his stiff dick, grabbed hold of it in his fist and squeezed. His eyes closed for an instant. He sighed, released his erection, and bounded out of bed.
What the fuck was the matter with her, he wondered. Shirl was a sensuous goddamned woman. She dug sex, and she dug it morning, noon, and night. She dug it maybe too goddamned much. His skin flushed with anger, the same old anger as he remembered catching her with that son of a bitch. He fought the thought out of his head, he couldn't think about that. Could there be somebody else now? Shit, that never stopped her before. She had balled that son of a bitch, fucked some other bastard and turned right around and balled him, why would it be any different this time?
He shaved, showered, and dressed, then had breakfast, watching her, thinking about her, trying to read her thoughts. He was still thinking about her, seeing her in his mind, on the freeway, on his way to work.
His mind on Shirl, he didn't see it coming.
The other car cut into the entrance lane. Paul, blinded by his thoughts, delayed too long in braking. He slammed on the brakes, skidding, twisting the wheel to avoid the car in front of him! Nosing into the adjacent lane, another car, horn blaring, brakes screeching, swerved, and suddenly a crash, metal scraping, ripping, more tires squealing! Paul straightened the wheel in the lane and stepped on the accelerator, resuming speed. In the rear-view mirror he saw cars stopping, a man getting out of one car, pushing open a smashed door. Hands shaking on the wheel, his pulse thumping like a tympani in his head, in his chest, his stomach queasy, he pulled to the right lane and slowed down, pulling off the freeway at the next exit. Nobody followed him off. He'd caused it, he knew it, he wasn't stupid-and at least two motorists had banged-up fenders. He couldn't face it, not stopping. All he could do now was wonder whether or not they got his license number. Shirl. He shook his head, trying to clear the fog out. He pulled into a coffee-shop parking space and stopped. He had to get control of himself. He went inside the restaurant and had coffee, and more coffee. He called his office and told them he would be out for the day. He was decidedly ill.
Precisely at that moment, Carmela was placing a call from Tijuana to the number in the San Diego newspaper ad which said a pony had been found. She'd remained in the hospital for four days-suffering from exposure, the doctors said, and Carmela had laughed weakly. Her vision stayed distorted by tears. She'd lost Querido. It was more than losing her act, her moneymaker, she had lost Querido. She'd never find him again, she knew it. She'd checked the San Diego papers for a week after she'd returned to the house. Rico had found the item about a pony escaping over the border into the United States. After the second week of searching the papers they'd both given up. Rico decided to look for another pony; they'd train it to take Querido's place. But Carmela knew no pony could ever replace the one she'd lost. She didn't go out of the house; Juana did the shopping for groceries and other necessities. Laying in the bed, she recalled that night when she'd lost him-and other nights. She wanted him back, her querido, her amante. She wanted him.
Almost a month later, on an off chance, she looked in the lost and found section of the San Diego papers. Unable to contain herself she bellowed the news to Juana, dressing quickly. Her senses were enthralled-it could be Que rido, there was no description in the ad, but it could be. So sure was she even her vagina began to glow, as it often did when she thought of the pony, the warmth streaming through her belly, down her thighs. She ran from the house to find a phone.
At last getting the call through, she was told that the man who placed the ad would not be in that day; no, they could not give her his home phone number, she'd have to call back tomorrow.
Calling a cab to take her to the zocolo, Carmela waited impatiently. She had to arrange for her passport and visa.
Shirl stabbed at an ashtray with the end of her cigarette. She crossed and uncrossed her legs under her robe; the touch of thigh against thigh, the feeling in her clitoris, in the lips of her pussy, cried out hotly demanding. She'd gotten Paul off to work, Angela off to school. She didn't want to do it, but-why the hell not!
She stood up and opened the door from the kitchen leading into the garage. The pony was standing on the island of sand Paul had shoveled in for him, depending on the pony to kick sand on his own plopping mounds of excrement.
Her bedroom slippers clacked against the cement until she reached the sand. Her eyes were fixed on the dangling oversize sausage-looking instrument at the pony's belly. The animal turned his head toward her, his nostrils taking in her scent. His back legs shifted, a slight neigh sounded in his throat, the penis began to straighten and grow, the head sliding slowly out of the foreskin, rolling the skin down on the shaft to bunch beneath the head.
Shirl licked her lips and pursed them in a soft whistling wheeze. She patted his neck and spoke to him gently, her other hand reaching for the giant phallus. She turned her head slightly to the side, marveling at the size. Still it grew, even as she took it in her hand.
As if it belonged to somebody else, the hand that lay at the pony's neck moved down and between the folds of her robe. Her middle finger went between her thighs and up into the juicily wet lips. The hand on the penis gripped tighter, compulsively, as her hand between her thighs, the finger, moved into the cunt folds, massaging, soothing, her fingertip gliding over the opening of her vagina and still up until it came to the wet clitoris, beginning to stroke it, slowly, gently, her knees bending a little spreading wider, her feet transplanting themselves another foot apart.
Her face contorted with passion. God, pony, she wished she could take that prick, take it in her aching cunt! But how? She didn't know how. She couldn't very well just bend over. The pony's head wheeled in closer to her. Her stroke on her clitoris stopped as her finger jammed down the crease, diving for the hole, into her pussy, gouging back, gripping hard. Still hanging onto her pussy, her hand left the prick, opening her robe, moving around to the pony's head, grabbing a tit in her hand and guiding it to his mouth, to the quivering, nibbling lips, the sucking mouth that seemed to wrap itself around her nipple and then draw her whole fucking goddamn tit into its snout.
Jacking her clitoris, building to a point just before coming, then dropping her finger down into her cunt, holding off the climax, then back to the clitoris, until she could stand it no longer. In shuddering waves of sprinting emotions, she gave herself over to it. Teeth gritting, knees quivering, her body shaking with the feeling, she came, and came.
Opening her eyes, a wide smile smoothed over her face. The pony gazed at her questioningly. Shirl laughed out loud, nervously and happily, feeling a little embarrassed-but that was foolish, nobody saw her. She forced the pony away from her tit, and brought a lawn chair over close to the pony. She had to sit; her knees were weak. But there was no reason why she couldn't still feel that mouth on her tits. Sitting now, she spread the robe again and guided the pony's nuzzling mouth back to the swelling globs of her breasts, her teeth flashing in a broad smile as the mouth again began to suck her tits, and then wandered down, down to her spreading thighs, her gaping, twinging pussylips, and sucked.
She had no idea what happened, what she did. She'd been sitting there, laughing at the way the mouth roved her body, the lips nibbling excitedly at her cunt, her belly, her tits, going back to nuzzle in between her thighs to reach her pussy. She'd stretched lower in the chair, spreading her legs, holding them straight out, turning a little to the side of the pony. She had done no more she was sure than touch the pony's knee with her foot.
Amazed, she watched him raise his head with a sound almost human, almost like a laugh itself, and drop to his knees, then his belly, and roll over on his back! With that huge prick of his standing up like an antenna, throbbing, almost bucking with the power of it, as though it were being hit spasmodically with a high-voltage electric charge. Shirl felt as if she'd found the button for a secret panel, or-like Ali Baba-whispered the magic words. "Open sesame," and the massive gates to hidden treasures had rolled aside to permit her to enter.
As she arose from the chair and moved to the side of the pony, except for the throbbing phallus the pony stayed completely still. Even his breathing seemed to have stopped for the moment, waiting. She reached out with both hands and touched the vein-laden prick, grabbed it, squeezed it, her palms twitching around it, her eyes big on it, turning her head to watch the pony's, the eye on the side of his face toward her watching, his lips drawn back tightly against his gums.
Drawn like a sleepwalker, aware of nothing except the itching need in her pussy and the fantastic dream-proportioned monster prick in her two hands, long enough to take two other hands along its length and still have part of the head sticking out the end, the circumference too big around by more than an inch for her thumb and middle finger to close around. A thick droplet of fluid oozed from the cleft in the tip of it.
Shirl let go of it only long enough to shrug her robe off her shoulders and toss it toward the chair, then her hands were on it again. Her leg lifted to straddle the pony's flanks, her hands aiming that cock, her thumbs smoothing the oozing lube over the head, her cunt drawing nearer to it as if pulled by a magnet toward it. It touched her, cold against her own hot-meated cunt, the broad flat end of it pushing against her labia, so wide it reached from one leg joint in her crotch to the other, across her entire vulva-the thought made her even more excited.
Holding it in place by her body's pressure on it, her fingers fumbled with her labia, pulling them aside, pushing her body onto the head of the prick, her hips writhing, her face a mixture of contorted grimacing effort and determination and anticipation, her head bent down, eyes wide, watching as her body pushed on it, wanting to see it as it passed into her cunt, feel it, smell it, see it.
Sweat broke out on her upper lip and forehead. She felt it, saw it, going, going-then the head of it breached itself into the hole! She thrust her torso on it, pushed at it, feeling it stretching her in an eerie reverse of the birth process, spiriting jabbing sensations of delight through her body, flashing through her mind. Her larynx gave a little cry of coming glory. Filling, splitting, stretching her cunt, so vo luptuous it was as five, a half-dozen fucking pricks sticking in her at the same time, ready to fuck, fuck her as she'd never been fucked before.
She laughed out loud, so good was the feeling. Her torso sinking until she could take no more and then rising, her feet almost coming off the floor she pitched herself on it again, with another laugh, rising again on it, throwing herself, impaling her hungry cunt on it again.
Laughing, fucking, crying, coming, Shirl went compulsively, convulsively hysterical, as she came, screamingly came! And only moments before the cannon shot off inside her, flooding her with its arsenal, splashing and spurting and drenching, running in streams down the insides of her thighs, leaving her laughing and sobbing and grateful for what she'd been able to feel.
And only moments before the wide heavy garage doors opened to reveal Paul standing in front of the car. Shirl could do nothing. She couldn't move, she could say nothing. She just looked, returning her husband's gaze as his expression went from incredulity to shock to an almost horror-like fear, and to disgust and to the finally daze, drunken look he still wore when-a few hours later-Kitty and Matt drove up, wrote out a generous check, and drove away with the pony.
CHAPTER FIVE
Carmela marveled at the way the coast line swung in toward them, a stretch of beach running along beside the superhighway, the waves washing whitecapped in on the sand, and then swinging away again, disappearing in the distance-rolling hills of sparse green and citrus groves and plots of cultured land swelling between the road and the ocean. Yet, with ail the cars on the route, the roadside stops, the planted lands and occasional towns, the United States seemed so ... isolated. No peons walked the roads, she hadn't seen a burro since leaving the border, and the towns-the towns were lovely, so clean and sanitary-looking, so tidy it looked as if nobody really lived in them at all.
Rico had returned at the last minute and insisted on going along, and Carmela decided she might as well take along Juana. That had slowed things up, waiting for visas, taking the car through customs. She was glad Rico had come. There might be more problems.
After almost a week of trying, she'd finally reached the man who had advertised finding the pony. From his description it had been Querido all right. Damn those thieves who had claimed him! The man had finally thought of a way to trace them. They'd given" him a check, and he'd deposited it in his bank. After another wasted two days Carmela had the name and address of the party that wrote the check-a Sherman Oaks address, a suburb of Los Angeles.
Carmela had no title to the pony, no papers. Nothing but the newspaper clippings about her kidnapping and rape, and about the pony's escape-illegal immigration of livestock-over the border. But the pony was hers. She'd find the bastards. She'd have Querido again, if she had to chase after him from there to hell. And she'd bring him back.
"Wheew!" Kitty whistled, down on her knees ogling the pony's erect prick and winking to the side at her appreciative audience. Tom held out a jar of cold cream and Kitty scooped out a handful, smearing it in gobs in her palms and then transferring the mess to the huge penis. Mavis-tall and sensuously willowy, with large lush lips and wildly raging hair suggestive of a lion's mane-held onto the leather harness straps as the pony's mouth gorged on her upturned nipples. At the touch of the soothing hands on his prick, smearing in the cold cream, the pony's nostrils quivered and snorted-he was happily confused. Women-his nostrils were full of her scent, his mouth full of her soft salty flesh, and yet the sensations at his sex tool!
It was a bright moonlit night, clear and star-filled. The lights from the den spilling out on the patio and the pool lights under water, casting eerily moving opposing shadows. It was cool out, a warm mist rising from the heated waters in the pool, but nobody had gone back inside, though all were naked-except for Tom and his cowboy hat. Several of the six couples present shivered, others rubbed their gooseflesh back into their skin, but few took their eyes off the activity around the pony.
It was a strange weekend. Bob and Mavis had special guests-Tom and Krista had been invited many times before, but this was the first time they'd accepted. Usually they kept their swinging within the bounds of their own place, a ranch in Nevada. Krista had an equine obsession; from the way Tom was hung that was probably why she married him. With her money she could have had anybody she wanted.
Krista lay on the chaise with Matt, both of them grinning at Kitty's antics with the pony. Matt's arm curled around Krista's neck, his body feeling her warmth, his hand cupping one of her mammoth breasts, extraordinarily mammoth considering her height. She was barely five feet, sporting a 38D-20-33 figure. His other hand toyed in the wet folds of her pussy, lazily, teasing. Absentmindedly she fondled his half-hard penis.
Kitty reached for another gob of cream. Tom tilted the cowboy hat back on his head. "You know, with all that grease, even if you do get on that thing, you're jis going to whoosh right back off again."
Bob came out of the den with another tray of drinks. Seeing Mavis stroking her tit into the pony's mouth he stopped short. "Are you at it again, hon?" He held out the tray to a well-developed redhead with freckles covering her body like measles. His words were addressed to Matt. "Goddamn it, ever since you and Kitty brought that damned animal over for us to keep for you, my wife has had her boobs in its mouth. Wonder the thing ever gets a chance to eat."
Mavis's voice was husky. "It eats," she said, leering significantly, "better than a lot of husbands I know!"
Bob picked up Krista's empty glass and set a full one down in its place. "I used to think my wife wasn't fit for man nor beast. If the pony likes her I'll have to think some more about it."
"Okay!" Kitty squealed happily. "Where's my carnal cart?" She motioned for Tom to get the serving cart, on which she'd placed several pillows. She climbed up on it and lay back, edging the two rounded cheeks of her ass until they protruded just enough, her legs dangling in space. Her head had just the support of a pillow extending over the other end of the cart. "Ready-somebody wheel me to it!"
Tom moved the serving cart, joking about the tasty dish being served, but as it reached the pony it was obvious it was not going under it with Kitty on top. "Goddamn it, pony, will you suck in your gut?" she shrieked, ignoring the laughter of the others, trying to wedge her body under the pony's.
Grinning, Bob yelled to wait a minute. He took a low platform from under a large flower box. Laying it at the front hooves, he had Mavis lead the pony up on it.
Again Tom wheeled Kitty under the pony, one of her legs going under first, and this time she made it, sucking in her own belly, a tight squeeze. Her tits rested against the pony's rib cage, her belly against his. The prick, sticking out, glistening luminously with cold cream, pointed straight into her ass. "Get me on it, somebody," Kitty mumbled, her hands between her thighs trying to grab it, unable to reach the additional needed inch.
"Well help!" Lila, pulling Tony up with her-reluctantly, obviously, Tony had rather help himself to Lila-arose from the beach towel, red spots on the low cheeks of her trim buttocks from the way she'd been sitting. She wrapped herself around one of Kitty's legs, Tony the other, from the other flank of the pony, and they pulled. Tom, down on his knees reaching under, held the greasy prick in line with Kitty's cunt.
"Oh, I got it!" Kitty yelled, "It's there!
Pull!"
Tony and Lila heaved on her legs, wrapping their arms around pneumatic thighs and straining their backs into it-laughing so hard they seemed to have no strength at all.
Grotesque, ludicrous, pathetic the scene, laughter erupted embarrassedly from every throat except Kitty's-to her it wasn't funny. From her mouth came a shrill squeak of frustration as she hunched and wriggled her body, trying to get her cunt onto the giant prick.
Tom moved around front, down reaching between the pony's forelegs, pushing against the frame of the cart. It slid forward without Kitty for an instant, then Kitty grasped the cart frame. "Yes, yes, that's it-push!" Tom dug in and heaved.
A shrieking scream of pain cut through the laughter, ending in a gurgle in Kitty's throat. The onlookers quieted, laughs cut off somber. The prick had penetrated almost to its full length into Kitty's cunt. A bulging band of cold cream had been scraped down the shaft to form a ring at the point where the thing disappeared into the hairy hole. Kitty's legs began to convulse, her hips began to writhe. She couldn't do it by herself. "Help meee!" she wailed.
"Get her off it!" somebody yelled; somebody else, "Help her, pull her out for God's sake!"
"No!" Kitty shrilled. "Don't you dare!" She groaned again, licking her lips, taking a deep breath. "Help me fuck it, you bastards!" Her hips squirmed, trying to move on the prick, but with nothing to give her leverage it was futile. Her arms went around the pony's girth but she couldn't hold onto it-nothing to grip.
Slowly Tom pulled back the cart; Kitty grabbed hold of it again, her body coming back a little as she thrust her legs against Lila and Tony. Inches, then Tom pushed the other way, hard, driving her on the prick again. "Ohh, do it, do it!" Kitty's high-pitched baby-doll voice sang out. Tom pulled her out a little then thrust her on the gigantic prick again, stroking it deep inside her cunt, ramming her on it. And again. And again, setting up a slow powerful rhythm, Lila and Tony, pulling, pushing against her thighs, neither of them laughing now,, both their faces intense, watching Kitty's face as she took the prick. Tony's penis began to rise.
Among the other spectators, eyes grew glassy, breasts heaved harder, nipples got hard and soft pricks began to stiffen and grow. Through it all Mavis shifted the pony's mouth, first from one smoothly conical tit to the other and back again, the pert uptilted nipples coming out of its mouth wet and shining in the light. Now, aware of Kitty's emotions, her own coursed harder, faster through her veins. Her one hand squeezing a tit into the pony's mouth the other dropped to the next of hair between her thighs, her finger digging deep in her pussy, coming out wet, lubing her clitoris and then stroking it, jacking it. She looked around at the others-pricks and cunts and tits and hands and mouths getting involved with each other, the heat of Kitty's sensations contagious, spreading to everybody present. Faster her fucking finger moved, faster, her knees bending, her eyes closing, her head dropping back, her other hand digging harder into the soft fleshy tit.
"Matt?" Krista's voice was low, a supernatural quality, an akinship to the surroundings, pouring out with the syllables.
Matt's mouth dropped to hers, their lips opening to suck each other in, their tongues storming each other, his arms around her neck, the hand squeezing her fat, fucking, mountainous tit, squeezing harder. His other arm listed her legs, drawing them up; his leg nearest her shifted in under her ass; he let one of her legs down and, holding the other, stuck his other leg between hers. She guided his prick into the wet hole, a cunthole hot and wet and alive, sucking him inside, like a mouth sucking. Her breath shuddered between her teeth with the feel of him.
Still holding her leg nearest him high, across his forearm, his hand roamed around his prick to her asshole, teasing along the seam and back up to her clitoris. His prick began to glide smoothly, in and out of her hot pussy goodness. Sideways to her on her back, his left hand still reached around her neck caressing her tit, his other hand squeezing, fingering, manipulating her clitoris, setting up a slow increasing rhythm. His mouth moved to the nipple of the breast nearest him, taking it inside sucking it as her hand reached up to feed it to him, his lips opening wider, taking more and more of the soft firm sweetness of her flesh inside as her fingers ballooned it into his mouth. Her tongue dropped to his ear, nibbling on the lobe, her breath hot and lusty, her tongue dipping inside, her lungs heaving as he sucked her tits, matching the strokes of his prick in her cunt-of her ass humping it, grinding back at him with everything he punched into her.
Kitty's increasingly high-pitched ohs and ahs and oohs now merged into a shrilly piercing long-rending siren, a steampipe rupturing, a brushfire burning, a boat whistle screaming.
Her round baby-doll face contorted in horrendous tortuous wrinkles of painful ecstasy, turning redder than a candy heart.
Other sounds joined hers. Bob had dropped on the blanket between freckled Connie's legs, his prick in his hand, moving in between her spreading lifting thighs to plug her gaping cunthole with it, her moans and groans of pleasure mounting with each rise and fall of his ass, weighting his joint on its drive inside her.
On the other chaise, Phyllis had her legs hanging off as George, kneeling on a rolled-up towel, had his face buried nose deep in her wet big-lipped pussy, while Ed stood beside the chair, holding her head as her mouth rode on and off his dick, slurping and smacking and moaning, Ed's moans in harmony with hers.
Krista's lusty voice erupted an urgent grunting moan in Matt's ear, her body stiffening, straining, the muscles in her cunt walls tightening and squeezing, her ass higher and faster in a sudden last burst of speed, hearing her voice cracking at the peak of her ecstasy, the last obstacles in the way of it gushing out of her pores, feeling his own orgasm blasting its way out of his nuts, triggered from his brain straight into the head of his dick in her cunt with the rhythm of a sewing machine, and then back to his brain again to explode out of his ears, his mouth, and out of the end of his dick into that lovely plastic beautiful vaginus hole of Krista's just as her cunt exploded in its own ecstatic rapture. Following the pressure of her hand, his mouth moved off the luscious mound of breast it had been sucking to the sweet taste of her mouth in a long, satiated, lethargic kiss.
Tony and Lila were still heaving on rosy-red rounded rubber thighs. Tom, getting comfortable, sat cross-legged just ahead of the pony's forelegs to work the cart, Kitty going for her fourth screeching orgasm when it hit her. She'd been given no warning.
The monstrous prick jammed skin tight in her stretched-wide pussy shot off, the pressure building in her, the force of it driving into her with the strength of a runaway fire hose, spurting, shooting, expanding her cunt until the pressure blew into and through her cervix into her womb and out her cunt around the prick, spraying, spewing-her shrill scream, whining, crying, shrieking, blasted eardrums, her head shaking side to side hysterically, the features of her face pinched together in an ugly wrinkled mask of sensation. Legs kicking, body twisting, writhing, arms flailing, trying to get off it now, Kitty went crazy with the pain of it.
With Tom yanking at the cart, pulling it aside, the long prick finally snaked out, still spurting, leaving the woman, wailing and crying and sobbing with dementia so marked it seemed as if she'd never descend into sanity again. Free of the pony, she sank to the ground, off the cart, pulling pillows with her, sitting spread-eagled on the cement, her thighs and belly covered with the thick syrupy paste of semen oozing out of her ravaged pussy, too immersed in her trauma to do anything but cry.
Matt, joking to Krista that duty called, patted his wife on the shoulder, holding her. Tom knelt beside her, pushing his hat forward to shadow his eyes, his long dangling prick almost touching the ground. "Woman," he said, "you better stick to men."
Phyllis moaned as George's mouth, sucking her off, brought her to a climax, and she twitched, her knees wagging, trying to bang them together with George's head still between her thighs-her noises choked by Ed's dick in her mouth as he too began to come.
After grinning at each other above Kitty's hysterics, Lila and Tony moved into each other, their pelvises clanging together, and dropped to the blanket beside Bob and Connie. Lila's hand groped for Tony's stiff prick, sliding it in her cunt, his ass straining up for it as it pitched inside her, his chest mashing her breasts into bulging swells to the side between their ribs.
Krista sat high in the chaise, smiling as Matt tried to calm his wife. Her eyes moved to the pony, to the huge round cylinder that dangled from his belly, dripping its whitish juices.
"Well?" Tom sat down on the chaise beside her. "What do you think?"
Krista turned her smile to him. "See what you can get it for. We'll have Bob load him and ship him. We'll fly on north in the morning, get in a little bird hunting. By the time we get home he'll be there waiting."
Tom nodded, his eyes under the hat looking at the animal appraisingly. He started to rise.
"Tom?" Krista stirred on the chaise, her eyes moving to the abnormally large dick hung on her husband.
He looked down at her inquisitively.
Her legs spread just an inch, a barely perceptible movement but blatantly suggestive. "Mount me, Tom. I need," her eyes dropped closed sensually, her voice dropping to a whisper, "a real fucking cock inside me."
Tom's eyes glinted. His joint immediately began to get hard, rising like the branch of a tree toward the sky. Grinning, he took off his hat and sailed it aside. He dropped down between her opening thighs with the strong primitive drive of a stallion mounting a rutted mare.
The buzz droned on in the receiver at her ear. Slowly, Carmela lowered the phone to its cradle. She felt like smashing it to bits. Those bastards. Those dirty fucking bastards. If she ever got her hands on them "Still no answer?" Ramirez flipped the channel selector of the television set, and settled back on one of the double beds.
Carmela shook her head. Another night in this stinking motel. She reached for the zipper at the neck of the red knit blouse she wore, but then Juana was there, doing it for her, pulling the fabric up over her head and off her arm. She shook out her hair, feeling the girl's fingers at the bra hooks. Then the sudden surge of freedom in her breasts as the constrictures of straps and cups released her flesh.
Dully she stood, moving her limbs without thinking as the girl undressed her. Feeling the cool air on her naked body, she waited as Juana pinned up her hair. She felt herself moved toward the bath, heard the water running in the tub, and then immersed herself in the hot steamy liquid, laying back in the water, smelling the rich rose scent of the bath salts, feeling the heat opening her pores. She felt ... exhausted. As if she were sleepwalking, the languid warmth draining the last of the strength from her body, the water encompassing her thighs, her belly, lapping at the mounds of her breasts as she settled into it. She closed her eyes and delivered herself to the warmth, like crawling into a womb.
She heard the sounds of Juana moving about, undressing so she wouldn't get her clothes wet. Juana. She was growing up. Soon she'd have a man. Or want one.
And me, Carmela thought, what will I want? Now it's a pony, an Appaloosa. Will she grow up too, grow up to Arabians? And then maybe Morgans or Clydesdales? If it weren't so compulsive a question it'd be funny as hell. She had a quick sudden vision of herself, with gray hair and parched wrinkled skin sagging in rolls, clinging to a gigantic prick the size of a tree trunk, her arms and legs wrapped around it, nuzzling her face against the head of it, while somewhere up toward the clouds a long hairy face leered amusedly down at her. She grinned and then shook the thought out of her head. Silly. But Querido-her thighs suddenly seemed to be throbbing, the sensation rippling up the muscles between her legs straight to her vulva, the spasms contracting inside her vagina. Her clitoris, the nipples of her breasts tingled, growing erect. Then she gasped. Hands on her body! Startled, forgetting, she sat up quickly, the water rushing off her torso, her eyes opening wide.
Juana! Only Juana. Carmela sighed with relief. What the hell was the matter with her. She'd scared the poor girl half to death. She smiled an apology. The young girl smiled back, blushing, lathering the bar of soap between her hands.
Carmela looked at the flat nose, the broad Indian face, the deep bronze complexion, the straight coal-black hair. She remembered the look on that face when she'd been caught at the keyhole, playing between her thighs. She smiled, to herself this time, her eyes dropping, touching the two firm young breasts, the light nipples and areolae like beanshoots from two hills of raw earth. In time they would grow larger, voluminous, and sag like pendulums. But now they were young and alive and exquisite, goose bumps of flesh on twin areolae, the flesh of the globes swelled tight with fastgrowing succulent meat. Carmela felt her own nipples alive with feeling. Her eyes dropped further-to the tight flat belly skin, the silky pubic hair, the swelling cheeks of ass protruding tenderly from the graceful arched back, the girl kneeling beside the tub, rubbing her hands together in lather, like a golden woodnympth, a primitive young goddess kneeling to pray before a satyrist's horny altar.
Again the hands touched Carmela's skin, sliding soapily over her shoulders, her neck, her back-smooth and easy and lulling. Closing her eyes, Carmela let her pores suck in the feeling, giving herself to it, the hands massaging her back, massaging her mind into a lazy lethargy. The washcloth replaced the hands, rubbing gently and then rinsing, squeezing water to run off her shoulders, down her spine.
She lay back then, stretching lazily, feeling regally indulgent as the soapy hands firmly lathered over the slopes of her breasts, down her belly into the water, kneading, soothing, massaging. Two gentle hands cupping a breast, squeezing it, hands sliding up toward the nipple, swelling sensations into the tip then to the other breast, then rubbing over and around and between the two ripe globes. Hands down the belly, down her legs. Fingers lathering between her toes, washing her feet, and back up again over her calves, her thighs, first one leg and then the other.
Carmela delivered herself into the warmth, into the firm soothing hands. Half numb with the feeling, she felt the hand work beneath her, lifting under the cheeks of her buttocks, lifting her in the water as another hand lathered between her thighs, toying in her pubic hair, shooting sensations into her as it dipped and rubbed and played in the meat of her vulva, lathering, washing her. So good, the feeling.
The glow tingled deep in her pelvis, her clitoris throbbed, the muscles of her vagina lept at each other. Querido. The beast she'd delivered her body toless a beast than many two-legged ones she's spread her legs to-so long ago! When was the last time she'd had a .penis inside her? Not since-she shivered, remembering, revulsion gripping at her guts. Again she felt the clothes being ripped off her body. Again she saw herself, as if it had been somebody else, a character in a stag film or something that it was happening to, saw herself in the middle of a circle of penises-of pricks, hard and shining and menacingly ready. Pricks in her hands, against her cheeks, tapping at her mouth for entry, poking at her cunt, prodding her asshole, rubbing against her, all over her.
The hand dipped and slid and darted through her flesh, the feeling pushing at her emotions, sustaining them, suspending them in warming soapy lather. She moaned. Not even aware of it, she moaned. Not aware of her reality, of the girl, the hands. She lived in another place, saw herself there, the men around her leering, their pricks in their anxious fists around her, poking, ramming at the orifices of her body, wanting her, demanding her.
Straining her hips against it, Carmela saw the prick dip into her wet cunt, saw the lips of her panting hole licking out against the shaft as it slid slowly into her, pushing into her cunt. God, she wished it were bigger, wished it were Querido's! But it felt good, so good, so long since she'd felt a sex tool jammed inside her.
It was as if in her mind the reality had no meaning at all, as if the finger sliding into her blinded cunthole was a prick, an aching, feeling prick. The finger began to move, slowly, and then faster, the heel of the young girl's hand pressing, slipping back and forth over Carmela's stiff, explosive clitoris.
"Oohh!" Her eyes squeezed tight,, her head twisted from side to side, her face grimacing with the passion at her cunt, at her mind. Her hands gripped the sides of the tub, the knuckles white. She strained into the hand. Her buttocks, the muscles, her asshole, twitched and jerked, the lips of her cunt seemed to be sucking at the thing that fucked the hole between them, wanting more of it, wanting it bigger and longer, stronger, harder. Chingame, chingame!
The roar of her emotions in her ears drowned out the gasps of breath sucked between her gnashing teeth, the steady increasing slap slap of the water, of her own moans and cries and whimpers, and the hard breathing of the girl who ministered to her passions; her eyes were closed to the wide eyes that clawed obsessed at her flushed nipples, the mounds leaping and falling with the agitation of her lungs, the eyes at her belly, her hips, crawling down her legs and back, exploring every niche, every crevice, as a hungry tongue flicked over thick lips. She couldn't see Juana's own nipples stretched to bursting tautness, rubbing against the cold white porcelain tub, aching themselves, her lungs heaving, her skin flushed red beneath the bronze, her young untried pussy dripping wet and glistening with her juices. She couldn't see the girl's eyes getting wilder by the second, wilder with each stroke of her finger in her mistress's cunt.
"Chingame!" It was more a wail than a command.
She felt the pumping force of the thing in her cunthole, forcing the water into her, surging in and out like the pulsating strangeness of an alien member, a prick of another being than a man or beast, the prick of an ether-of spirit rather than substance, fucking her.
"Chingame, chingame!" Fuck me, fuck me, whatever you are, give it to me, fuck me!
Orgasm, it was coming, the ecstasy of it, pawing into her, pounding into her, blowing her up with its tensions, her veins swelling with it, getting ready to burst and blow her flesh like pieces of rubber all over the room, and she was ready for it, never giving a damn if she'd even survive the blast, knowing it was coming and ready for it.
"Fuck now!"
She wailed it out, oblivious to the frantic girl pitched into her own emotional turmoil, frantic with desire to please, frantic with the demands of her own shrieking pussy. Carmela wailed the command to the prick in her hysterical cunt, to a dozen other pricks wafting like specters behind her eyelids, rippling, oscillating with the surging ecstasy consuming her.
And then she was there, coming! Simultaneously with it, the prick was gone, the illusion of it in the splash, splashes, water spraying her, her body pushed up in the tub, her legs lifted, spread wider, her ass lifted completely out of the water! The sensation at her cunt! Coming, coming, she didn't give a fuck, just loving the coming, immersed in the ecstasy of it, wanting to drown in it, just swim in and never come out of it.
She didn't care what was happening, couldn't think of it, just feeling it, the ether at her cunt, an ether mouth, sucking her, tonguing her, loving her, swallowing her clitoris, licking her asshole, nibbling her pussylips, eating her cunt, and she wanted it to-whatever it was-to take her all, eat her up, swallow her whole.
A long time, such a long time, the ecstasy consumed her, coming, living it, and then gradually, even as the mouth between her legs continued to suck her detumescing pussy, languishing her with the sweet goodness of it, she permitted her mind to recognize the feeling, the source of her pleasure. She opened her eyes.
The big black eyes, smiling up at her from between her legs-Mother of God, what had she done! She was still a child. Her long hair floating atop the water, suds on her cheekshow could she be doing this to the child! She groaned.
She pushed the head away from her, shoved, anger rising in her guts and contorting her face where the ecstasy had been just moments before. Shock, pain, flushed the girl's features even a deeper crimson.
It was wrong. As wrong as the thing she'd already done. She saw the hurt, the blinding unjust pain of the rejection rise behind Juana's eyes, like water rising in a meter indicator. Carmela couldn't do it. Feeling the choke in her throat, her hand reached out again, grabbed the girl's head, pulling her up atop her in the bathtub, water cascading around them, feeling the girl's wet slippery flesh against hers, the wet hair trailing across her breasts just before she hugged the girl to her.
Both of them crying now, wailing and clutching each other, rolling in the tub, bound to each other. Carmela whispered gently in Spanish, soothing, caressing, then gradually, as the girl calmed, telling her how her body had ached for satisfaction but that it was wrong, that Juana would someday find a man-that what had happened between them must never happen again.
Again the sobs racked the girl in Carmela's arms, while Carmela stroked and talked gently, calming her.
She just needed love-and she shouldn't find it in her arms, Carmela reasoned ... find even a semblance of sexual satisfaction. It could change her entire direction, turn a sweet loving potential family woman into a sorrowful dyke.
Carmela's limbs were still weak from her orgasm, the glow of it still stretching through her loins which curled about Juana's narrower hips, her cuntlips still acutely sensitive from the attentions of the girl's hands, her hot sucking mouth.
Gently, she had the girl to rise, and stood up herself. With Juana waiting, curled in the crook of her arm, Carmela opened the drain of the tub and adjusted the shower spray to rinse the suds from their bodies, from Juana's straight black hair. Moments later they were giggling, toweling each other down. For Carmela it was the first time she'd seen Juana when the servant seemed really happy, as if for the first time the young girl had found a friend;-she hoped the girl thought of it as friend instead of lover.
The drapes at the end of the room were a screen of illumination, light projected through them from the neon signs and flood lamps in the motel court beyond them. On the wide double bed between her own and the drapes, Juana could see her mistress, tossing and turning in troubled sleep-or perhaps still awake-wearing the sheer thigh-length blue gown and panties Juana had laid out for her. On the other side of her mistress was Rico, on his back, staring at the ceiling. The air conditioner hummed in the background, and occasionally she could hear a car door slam and an engine starting, the headlights across the drapes illuminating them even brighter.
She wished she could make sleep easier for her mistress. She smiled, nuzzling into the pillow, into the fresh smell of clean linen. Her skin still tingled from her bath, from the memory of Carmela's hands on her. Usually it was only her hands that could possess that tingling awareness of her mistress's touch.
Again Carmela turned in sleep-in restless non sleep?-and Juana's eyes followed the tilt of her chin, the hollow of her neck, the quickly rising swell of breasts, the drop to her narrow waist, the flare of her hips, the curves of her legs. She wished so hard she could be half as lovely, half as perfect!
Tomorrow she would wear the blue-and-white striped bell-bottoms and the white knit sleeveless blouse that scooped low over the tops of her breasts, clinging to the mounds and the exquisite waist. She'd brush her hair until it shined, like polished gold nuggets hidden in the reddish dark strands of spun earth.
Laying on her side, her knees drawn up, her hands clasped together between her thighs, her legs squeezed together compulsively around her hands. The muscles in her thighs contracted. She wished she could just give her mistress ... pleasure. She wouldn't have to do anything back, she wouldn't even have to acknowledge it.
Juana's hand twitched, remembering feeling the hairs, the hard nubby clitoris, the soft yielding folds of lips between Carmela's thighs, of the spongy flesh on the inside of her vagina. She wished she were touching it now.
Her eyes touched the tops of Carmela's tanned legs, the spot hidden now under the sheer powder-blue cloth of silken panties. In the next bed, hardly three feet separated their two bodies, yet it was so far away. Her lips quivered, her tongue flicked out across them, and then curled, a licking motion, remembering how her mouth had charged her mistress's sensitive flesh, how her tongue had licked and her mouth had sucked, savoring the soapy taste, the juicy tender touch of it.
Oh, she wished she were sucking it now! The flood of juices at her crotch, in her pussy-Tor merited with the passion of her longing, she inwardly groaned, wanting to let out the sound but not daring to. Her hands shifted, seemingly against her will. She didn't want to touch herself-Her middle finger laid itself in the wet crease-of her tender quivering pussy, and then rubbed up through it, spreading the thick gliding moistness to her throbbing clitoris. She pressed against it. Hard. The sensation making her head spin. She fought hard to control her breathing, to remain perfectly still. But inside she was seething with violent motion, her emotions churning.
Ramirez turned over. Juana's heart stopped beating. It took a long second before she realized he had turned away from her. She just knew he had heard her, or felt the way she touched her crotch, or seen the sparks fly out of her soul. But of course he hadn't, he couldn't have.
Pressing her finger hard over her clitoris again, her eyes dropped closed with the sensation. She let the hard nub of it slide back and forth beneath her pressing finger, battling for control of her breath in her lungs as her brain sucked in the feeling, sucked at the emotion inside her the feeling produced. She wondered how it would feel if it were Carmela's finger-not that she'd have to, not that Juana would even expect her to, she just wondered how it would feel.
The finger slid down the crease again, exploring, down to the tiny hole. Why was hers so different from Carmela's? Where her mistress had a smooth-sided silky channel, her own-she stuck the end of her finger inside her-was so small she couldn't even put her finger in it past the first joint, and then it hurt. She wished it didn't. Sometimes the feeling inside her! She felt as if she had to stick something inside. There was such an itch, such an obsession! Her body flushed even deeper remembering the sight of Rico's penis. She wondered how it would feel. No! Mother of God, it would kill her! There was something wrong with her, she knew it, she could never take anything that size in her tiny tender hole. Even her mistress couldn't take. How repulsive the image in her mind. Carmela sucking Rico's penis. She had seen it with her own eyes. And not just once. She had seen them together several times, and she knew Rico wanted to poke his penis in Carmela's hole, but Carmela feared it so badly she had taken it in her mouth instead. Juana resolved that she too would never take a penis in her hole. If she ever had to take a man she'd take him in her mouth, like her mistress.
She remembered how Rico's face had looked as Carmela had sucked him. He had moaned, his face lighted with such heavenly bliss, his hips coming up off the bed. Juana could hear her mistress's mouth, slurping round the big penis, her head bobbing up and down on it, her hair swinging from side to side. And Rico had sucked Carmela. She had liked it, she had cried out from the intensity of her passion for his mouth. Juana smiled. Just as she'd called out to me.
Riding back up the slippery crease, Juana's finger slowly began to manipulate the loose flesh over her clitoris, the ecstasy there between her legs, drowning out thoughts, producing voluptuous visions: Carmela, on her back, her legs spread wide, quivering as Juana crawled between them, crawled toward the sweet waiting cunt. She could see every hair. The lips guarding the hole were flushed red. It was wet between them, glistening wet.
As Juana crept closer, the legs spread wider. The lips separated with a barely audible smack, and there was the opening like an inverted teardrop, gleaming wet, the hole beyond it black and enigmatic, an elfin treasure cave of mystery and riches. There was an eave of loose flesh above the hole, a tiny taut whitened knuckle at its center. All of it, Carmela's cunt, the hairs, the flesh, the hole, it pulsed, alive, aware, excited, waiting for Juana. For Juana's mouth.
And in her mind she moved the last inch, her mouth hanging open, her tongue protruding. The tip of her tongue touched the clitoris in its eave and then drew back. The clitoris vibrated, wildly, like a clapper arm against an alarm bell. Juana's lips widened with pleasure. Again the tongue darted out, this time to the wet hole--just the tip of the tongue passed inside it and then lapped around and around it as the hole contracted and expanded, trying to grasp the source of its pleasure and suck it inside. Juana could taste it on her tongue, the scent of it in her nostrils. And now her finger charging at her clitoris, fluttering across it, her mind saw her mouth attacking Carmela's cunt, attacking it like a starving lioness pouncing on a gazelle-sucking it, tonguing it, lapping at it, kneading it with her lips.
Jacking her pussy, fearful of discovery and fighting off any exterior sign of what she was doing, that other part of her mind seeing the images, she sucked the cunt of her mistress, feeling the spongy meat in her mouth, the stiff clitoris under her tongue, felt the thighs lunging at each other against the sides of her head, heard the moans from Carmela's throat, felt her hips bucking in ecstatic passion.
If she only could suck her mistress every day. Produce the ecstasy she knew she was capable of, had proven she was capable of, so few hours ago in the bath. Juana was good at it, she knew she was. She was even better than Querido. Juana knew Carmela "performed" with Querido in a "casa de camas," where men paid to poke their penises in women, and paid to see things. Carmela performed with Querido. Juana had imagined how it must be. She had even tried it herself. Hadn't Querido tried to lick her breasts every time she got near him? She'd let him suck her nipples. Many times. And there'd been those times when she'd lain in the hay and spread her legs and let him lick at her pussy, lap between her legs with his rough tongue, while she fucked with her finger at her clitoris. That was what Carmela did, of course.
In her mind, her mistress rapidly approaching a climax, Juana felt the tongue of Querido between her own legs, bringing her to an orgasm at the same time as her mistress. Then the orgasm was on her, surging through her, consuming her. She choked off the sounds in her throat. She reeled, feeling the strain of it burst, careening, and then ebb, rushing out of her into the sheets like water poured from an urn. And then sighing ecstatically, satiated with peace, she found she could breathe again. She had no idea how long she lay there dozing, dreaming happily of her mistress. Then, with the voice, the smallest whisper, she came fully awake.
"Rico?" It was a hesitant plea.
Ramirez turned toward Carmela, whispering his reply: "I'm awake, Melita."
Sounds of the covers rustling as Carmela shifted closer. "I ... need you, Rico!"
Juana saw their arms grappling at each other, the bodies merging into each other. She heard the sounds of their breaths, of the hiss, of their hands and bodies. His hand tugged at her panties-but hers stopped him. Her whisper was hoarse and lusty, barely audible. "Do you think Juanita is asleep?"
Ramirez' voice: "She's asleep."
Her eyes clouding, Juana wished it had been her, her mistress had called. She loved her, her mistress loved her, she'd even called her Juanita. And she could do it better, she knew it.
Carmela's legs, the knees raised, her buttocks lifting, the panties down and off, tossed aside. Ramirez' hands, tugging up the short sheer gown, baring her breasts. His hand squeezed, his mouth dropped to them, sucking.
If only it had been me! "I ... need you, Rico!"
His mouth coming off her tits just long enough to answer. "I'm here, Melita."
Her hands tugging at his head. "I need ... your prick, Rico!"
Juana's heart froze in her breast.
"Your ... fucking prick!"
No! Even as she watched she couldn't believe it, she'd never seen Carmela like this. Ramirez climbing on top of her, his face grinning, being tugged on top of her, her legs spreading for him, her hand groping for his prick. Juana could see it, huge, protruding from his body like a fat roll of toffee, see Carmela's hand grope for it and grab it, squeezing, pointing it toward her cunt! No, she couldn't!
He lowered himself on her and Juana knew it was going in, going deep.
Carmela moaned, "Oohhh!"
No!.
"Mother of God!" No!
"Fuck ... me, Rico." No! God, how could- "Fuck me."
He was lunging at her in and out. "Harder. Harder, Rico!"
Despite herself, Juana felt the twinge begin again in the depths of her vagina, the strange desire to be poked in it, even though her brain cringed with every plummeting stroke of Ramirez' penis, knew the pain of it as if it were her own hole he raped.
"Harder!"
Fiercely he lunged, his belly slapping into hers.
"That's ... it!" SlappingMother of God!
"Rip ... my ... guts ... out ... with ... that ... prick!" Ohh!
"Yesss, fuck me ... oh, God, goddamn ... fuck me!"
Watching, hurt, angry, bewildered, her emotions unsortable, Juana's body shrieked with desire again, her hand stabbed between her legs, her finger groping for her clitoris.
"Ram it!"
Her eyes wild on the couple in the bed, she jacked at her pussy, worked at it, uncontrollably, sadistically, unmindful of anything except her turmoil, a need for orgasm, a need for fulfillment!
"Fuck me!"
"Si ... Melita ... si!" Si!
Breathing, heavier, the noise careening. "Fuck ... my aching ... burning-"
"I'm ... fucking!"
"-My ... cunt!"
"Melita!"
"Fuck me!"
"I'm-"
"No, God ... damn you, you ... prick!"
"-Coming!"
"You ... son ... of ... a ... bitch!"
His voice begging in its whisper: "Come!"
"Don't ... don't stop!"
"I'm coming!"
The son of a whore, Juana hated him, hated him for having a penis, for hurting her mistress, for fucking her, for not satisfying her-but glad he couldn't, she could do, she had done it, in the bath, given her mistress the sweet feel of ecstasy, while, he, he could do nothing, nothing. In the smug glow of the thought she felt the swoop of ecstasy accelerating.
"Don't ... for God's sake!"
"Come!"
Yes! I'm ... oh sweet mother of Je-Oohh!
"No! ... Yes? Yes ... hold!"
The slap, slap of bodies slowed but heightened, louder the sounds cut through the room.
Carmela's voice roared, straining in a loud forced whisper, "Yes ... goddamn ... I'm-"
"I'm coming!"
"I'm coming! Yes ... fuck ... meeee, oohhh-"
Juana was coming, she was coming, she didn't give a damn at that instant for either of them, just living the crazy spin of her senses in her own pleasure, but knowing theirs was the same, feeling it, an electric flux in the room, permeating her pores, making her flesh crawl with the intensity of it, joining with them, the three of them coming, coming, coming in, on, around each other, a thick heavy flux like the juices of cunts and pricks splashing, flooding over them, engulfing them, until they swam in it, floated in it, and lay in it until at last it receded, letting them back to their beds, the smell of sweat and sex heavy in the air.
Rolling over, turning her back to them, Juana faced the wall. She didn't care if they saw she was awake, had watched them. He was a bastard, a pig, the son of a whore, the raper of his grandmother, he was ... a man. And Carmela?
Her eyes clouded again with her tears and the choke feeling squeezed at her throat.
-She deserved no better than him.
Kitty sat on the edge of the pool, her legs dangling in the water, shifting back and forth lazily. Damn, she was sore! She'd showered and douched and still she felt unclean. Still, she smiled, it had been pretty damned good there for a while. She looked up at the sky. Stars. How many billions? A breeze had lifted the smog out of the valley-it happened so seldom now-and she could see the stars.
She blushed as she remembered another star-filled night, laying flat on her back in fresh-cut grass, while-what was his name?-had pleaded with her to let him do "it," extolling the rapturous virtues of "it." There had to be a first time, what was she holding onto virginity for? She finally let him persuade her. She had already let every male out of short pants "persuade" her that summer, why not him too? She smiled, remembering what a silly sanctimonious bitch she'd tried to appear to everybody. It's a wonder any boy had ever even tried to do "it" with her.
"Feeling better?"
Kitty turned to the voice, startled back to reality.
Matt grinned at her. "Just me." He dropped his legs over the side of the pool, his thigh rubbing against hers.
She nuzzled into him, her hand automatically reaching for his limp penis. She sat that way a long time, not wanting to think. Then the question bubbled out in her shrill little girl voice: "Was she ... good?"
His arm squeezed around her shoulders. "Which one?" The image of Krista rose up in his eyes out of the mist rising from the water of the pool. He fought to control any reaction in his penis.
"You know."
He laughed. "They were all good!"
"But-" Kitty struggled for words, then gave it up. "Was she good?"
Matt followed her gaze. His eyes picked up the entire panorama. The pony munching on a plant at the edge of the patio, Mavis had finally let him go and was now laying flat on her back on the blanket, moaning, with Ed's head between her thighs, making mad noises sucking her cunt. Connie, her tan freckled skin contracting against Tony's olive white, was astride him, haunching on his prick, her hair hiding her face as she loomed over him, propped up on her hands beside his head. Just as Matt turned his head, he saw Phyllis crawl to where Bob sat spread out on a towel, his own attentions on Connie's writhing body, and take his growing prick in her hand, smiling up at him, racking it a couple of strokes expertly and then enveloping it with her sucking mouth. Lila was laying on a chaise beneath Tom's long powerful strokes, every downstroke bringing a gasp from the girl's mouth, her face contorted in a mixture of pain and ecstasy, on the threshold of her orgasm.
He looked for Krista but couldn't see her. Then she was coming out of the den, a glass in her hand, her gigantic breasts swaying with her movements, so fantastically formed and large for such a small delicate-appearing frame.
"Her," Kitty said, bringing him back to reality.
He started to tell her that she had been utterly fantastic-not "utterly," it sounded like a bad pun. But then he realized she wasn't talking about Krista at all. She was talking about Lila. Lila, the youngest one-eighteen-her body so firm and shapely and tight it was like an expensive delicate instrument, her breasts so firm, her nipples, if you tweaked them, would probably twang like a guitar string. She was something else.
He watched with Kitty as Tom's shortened strokes-he would have come out through her tonsils if he gave her all he had-brought the girl to a gasping shuddering climax. Matt's prick got hard in Kitty's hand. "Well?"
He kissed her on the lips. "She's a child. Built beautifully. But all she knows yet is to lay there. She's got a nice tight little shallow pussy-" he tightened the muscles in the base of his penis making it throb in Kitty's hand "-about like yours," he teased. "In another five or ten years she'll be almost as good as you are now. Of course, by then you'll be that much better."
Her hand squeezed his dick. "I love you."
His hand around her shoulder dropped to her round breast, cupping it, squeezing it. "I love you."
Nuzzling her face into his shoulder, she was happy for the moment. Confident. "Tell me about them all."
Laughing, he told her: "None of them are as exciting as you."
"You say I'm a child, a little girl."
"Sometimes you act like it, but you're all woman, baby, the most exciting, delicious talented fucking woman."
"Tell me about Mavis."
He grinned. "Mavis just wants to get sucked. She wants her tits sucked, her toes sucked, her cunt sucked, her nose sucked-" Kitty giggled.
"-And she doesn't even want to suck back." Her face wrinkled mockingly. "That's unfair!"
"Goddamn right!" he said emphatically. "But Phyllis there-"
"She rather suck than eat?"
"Well ... than fuck anyway." The two of them watched silently a moment as Bob, grunting, his hands on Phyllis's bouncing careening head, strained his dick in her mouth, guiding her head on him. Matt felt the nipple at his fingertips stiffening, felt the lungs beneath the pneumatic breast pump harder. Even before Phyllis choked and gagged, it was obvious Bob was coming, spewing come as if he hadn't already a few times, filling her throat as she tried to swallow. At last she relaxed and the tension went out of her arched buttocks, her mouth still sucking, easily now, her tongue coming out of her mouth licking him off.
Matt could talk again, his tongue thick in his mouth. "I think she gets a feeling of power sucking a man off-" he smiled, kissing the top of her head "-nice as it is. And she is magnificent at it."
"As good as I am?"
"Don't be silly." He had no intention of answering that one.
"And Connie and the rest of them? They're all so much slimmer than I am."
He laughed. "You mean they're not as ... voluptuous ... as you are." He growled teasingly in her ear.
"And Krista?"
He paused. "Krista could fuck a horse."
"And she does," Kitty laughed.
"So I hear." No need to tell her that Krista could make any man feel like a horse, like the greatest fucking stud.
"Matt?"
"Yes, sweetheart."
"Fuck me, Matt. Like you really mean it."
She fell backwards, drawing him with her. His mouth groped for hers, his hand squeezing into the firm rounded flesh of her tit.
"I always mean it."
Then their wet sliding lips fused, his tongue passed into the cavern of her mouth. Their wet legs grinded against each other. Matt reveled in the voluptuous softness of her, the ... buoyance of her lush body. Her hand tugged on his prick guiding it, and then it was at the hole, penetrating. He felt the head of it forcing its way inside, feeling it tighter even than usual, knowing she was sore-sore from a fucking animal. The thought was there in his mind, he could see her, taking that fucking pony's dick in her goddamn cunt. His fucking cunt! His hips lunged!
He wanted to hurt her, knew he would hurt her. He was sorry, even as he did it. It was cruel. He couldn't blame her.
She screamed with the pain.
"Oh, baby, baby, I'm sorry!"
"Fuck me, Matt?" Her voice had tears in it. "Hurt me, fuck me and make it hurt!"
Her voice was plaintive, penitent. "I'm sorry, Matt. Hurt me, fuck me, I want to fuck!"
His hips drove, and receded and drove again, hard. In every stroke he felt her wincing, felt the hurt himself.
"We've sold it, we're rid of it?"
He knew then what she was thinking. "Yes, baby."
Her hips were haunching back now, writhing and haunching, her eyes closed against her tormented pleasure and the soreness of her cunt. "No more ... Matt, no more ... dogs or horses or ... monkeys or ... kangaroos." Her voice dropped an octave.
He drove in her, pounded his dick with all his might into her shrilly moaning flesh.
"No more ... men, if you want, Matt ... just
... you."
He could feel the depths of her, hear her shrill little-girl voice dropping, could feel inside her cunt, the growing intensity of it, the sheer beauty of it coming alive with desire for him, just for him.
"Fuck me, Matt! Fuck me and ... love me!" Her voice was deep and hoarse and ... mature.
I've got a woman on my hands! He smiled. On my fucking dick! He fucked her, the passion flooding over him, over her. He fucked her.
