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From: tmquin@ibm.net (Thomas M Quin)
Subject: {ASS}SSK:The Horse Trader pt 1 (M/f)
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STANDARD DISCLAIMER
===================
The following piece of fiction is intended as ADULT entertainment and
has been posted only to an appropriate group on the Internet. If it is
found in any other place this is not the responsibility of the author.
The author explicitly prohibits.
1) The posting of this story in an incomplete form.
2) The use of this story in a larger work without his express
permission.
3) The use of this story on any CD, BBS or Website without the
written permission of the author.
This work is copyright ravishme 1998.
All characters in this story are fictitious, any similarity to
persons living or dead is purely coincidental. The author does not
necessarily condone or endorse any of the activities detailed in this
story, some of which are dangerous or illegal.
rravishme@hotmail.com
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"The Horse Trader" by ravishme
=========================
Introduction
==========
The last thing I remember was enjoying the beautiful fall afternoon,
the colors rich and brilliant...
We had come to Belarus to look at horses to import. With the crashing
Russian economy, the golden Akel-Teke and the bright chestnut Budonney
horses were a steal. For a few hundred dollars US you could buy a
horse that in the states would sell for tens of thousands... Better,
he could stand as a sire, at a thousand bucks a pop. Not too bad a
deal, since his ‘enjoyment’ doesn’t cost you a penny...’
Anyways, our small group of five, the older Murphy couple, myself,
and the mother-daughter team of Melissa and Missy had broken up this
afternoon. They were heading to Moscow for a touristy type trip, I had
wanted to stay behind and explore the ancient and fertile farmlands...
There were rolling pastures full of the most beautiful horses, barns
full of mahogany, brass, and the most beautiful craftsmanship.
Our group’s tour guide had obtained an interpreter for me. His
english was stilted, but if I saw something I liked, he could help me
bargain. (To accept the first price would be an insult to the seller.)
The dark young man made me slightly uncomfortable, though he would
flash a shy, crooked smile at me once in awhile. I chalked up the
foreboding feeling to jetlag and a lumpy mattress at the Bed &
Breakfast we were staying in.
We were in one of the oldest stables, still well kept, though
the brass fittings had been sold off and were replaced with
servicible iron. The owner, a middle aged man, a face full of sun
wrinkles and laugh lines, brought out a young stallion when my
interpreter told him why I was there. The colt was magnificent. A
blood bay, the red chestnut gleaming metalically like a new penny,
coal black mane, tail and legs. He had not a spot of white on him. I
moved around him, picking up a hoof, smoothing my hand over his warm,
silky back, measuring the weight and breadth of his chest with my
palm... I only glanced at his teeth, he was strong and lanky,
obviously I was being told the truth about his age. He was just about
perfect. The only thing I didn’t like was his eye. A horse should have
a big, soft eye, well set back and wide in the forehead. (Old timers
say the wider the forehead, the more room for the brains!) This
colt’s eyes were small, piggish, and hard and shiny. He was tempting,
but I’d have to see him worked to know his temperament. I couldn’t
afford to ship a stallion back to the states only to end up gelding
him....
The middle aged gentlemen frowned when my interpreter said I
would not be buying today. Then he said something which made my
interpreter’s eyes dart to me furitively, look down, blush, and then
nod and smile. I wondered if it was an insult. The owner led the colt
back out to let him loose in a paddock. I followed, watching the
beauty, grace and power of the golden black horse.
The owner went into a small second barn, and my interpreter
spoke. "He have a mother horse... with baby, you want look?" I nodded,
it was a beautiful afternoon, importing a mare or two wasn’t out of
the question.
When we first stepped into the smaller barn, out of the
sunlight, all I saw was blackness. Without warning, the barn door
slammed shut behind me, making me jump and a small scream escaped.
Then I was grabbed from behind, arms pulled painfully high, and
something sickly and sweet pressed over my nose and mouth. I tried
not to breathe, but finally my oxygen starved lungs had to give in...
that’s the last thing I remember.
To contact the Author Please remove the _NS_
from the return address.
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