It was in the middle of the day. I was seated at a vanity in Helen's bedroom brushing my hair. I hadn't had a good chance to brush it out since arriving, and the brisk strokes tugging at my scalp felt good.
My hair was longer than it had been in years, the thick brown tresses reaching down to just below my shoulder blades. It seemed like an awful lot of hair as I watched it move with my head in the mirror. I picked the mass up with both hands and held it atop my head for an instant.
The tap-tap-tap of the hooves on the kitchen floor downstairs interrupted my thoughts. The pony had made himself quite at home. So far there had been no "accidents", but the novelty of having a horse-like creature roaming at will throughout the house was something I had not yet gotten used to.
Helen was still upset about Clyde. We still hadn't figured out how he had gotten out of the house. He was adept at pushing doors open that were not quite tightly shut, but all of the doors leading to the outside were found locked when Helen checked them.
Because of the air conditioning, all the windows were closed, but one basement window we had found unlocked and very easy to push outward. The window was a good six feet from the floor, however, and it seemed doubtful that Clyde could have both scaled the wall and pushed open the window. Still, he was gone.
Helen had reported him missing to the police shortly after we had arrived home, and all morning had been on the telephone checking with the pounds in the metropolitan area. She had also alerted local kennels and pet shops to be on the lookout in case the person taking Clyde tried to sell him.
She was being very thorough. I had heard her calling in ads to the Lost and Found sections of newspapers, and talking to medical school people on the hunch they were buying animals for student dissection.
"It's not going to be easy to hide a tricolored collie. They're the rare ones," she had pointed out to me. "Well, maybe not as rare as the Morrells," the thought occurred to her, "but certainly not an everyday breed." She had been moved to tears periodically. "Where can he be?" she had kept asking me.
Her grief over Clyde had kept her from paying much attention to the pony. The tan and white creature had taken to her almost immediately and frequently walked up to where she might be sitting, softly nuzzling her.
On top of everything else, Jack arrived home later in the evening. I thought he was going to croak when he laid eyes on the pony. He went quickly from a kind of shocked expression to a livid fury which he managed to keep under control but just barely.
Helen, of course, didn't waste any time telling him about Clyde's disappearance. Jack did his best to reassure her that everything was going to turn out all right, but seemed too stunned by the pony's presence to gather his wits about him enough to be of any material help.
"Whose idea is this anyway?" he had almost demanded, casting an eye in my direction. Because I had not yet married, he was prone to suspect me of the darkest sexual adventures, and once had told Helen that I was probably a lesbian. He was a very insecure man.
He had insisted Helen keep the pony in the garage while he was home. He calmed down considerably finally when Helen told him the pony would only be there a few days, but kept at her occasionally about the exact time of departure.
After he had left for work earlier in the morning, Helen told me he had wanted intercourse with her the night before, but that she had begged off because she was so worried about Clyde. He had gotten angry and said things about Clyde he had never said before, strange things.
"Do you suppose he knows that Clyde and I have been lovers?" she had asked me.
I had blushed at the thought. It had seemed like such a blunt way of putting it. "Only you can know that, Helen," I had answered.
"I've been very, very careful," she had said. "Why, I think I'd be mortified if Jack found out. He'd be so upset."
I had thought he would be more upset if he knew of some of her other escapades, such as the hay episode with Cunningham's foreman.
"Jack would not be one to keep something like that to himself, I think," I had said. "You would hear about it pretty fast."
"He's been suspecting something," she had told me again. "I just haven't been as frustrated when he fails to satisfy me completely, not like I used to be."
I decided to put my hair into a loose ponytail, and looked around the vanity for a barrette, Helen had several including a wide tortoiseshell type which I chose. A light itch behind my ear reminded me that it would be a good idea to wash my hair. Perhaps tonight, I thought.
Standing up, I removed my robe and caught my reflection in the mirror. I was a body without a head as the vanity was just low enough to cut the reflection off. The hair on my bottom was a thick mat, and I ran a comb through it, ratting it up as much as it would go.
All fluffed out, my pussy suddenly seemed larger than life. I turned sideways and looked at my reflection. The hair made quite a bulge. Patting the crest of the bush lightly with my hand, the thought occurred to me I really had too much hair there, and I wondered how many men might be bothered by it.
I had just put the robe back on when a squeal from Helen downstairs attracted my attention.
"Bea!" she called out, "come down and see this!"
I went down the stairs and turned, thinking she was in the kitchen.
"In here!" The voice came from the living room.
I changed my direction and walked into the room. Helen was kneeling on the floor alongside the pony. I could see immediately that the animal was in an erect state. In fact, it was still growing.
"Oohh," she piped. "It just keeps on coming out!"
It was true. The organ kept extending outward and slightly down. Less embarrassed than I had been about looking at it in the barn, I knelt down on the other side of the pony and watched, fascinated, as the skin on the protuberance grew tauter.
I could not resist touching it and reached for the shaft. Helen had the same impulse for our fingers clasped it about the same time. We both gave a little squeeze.
"It's so soft," Helen marveled, "yet solid!"
It felt warm to my fingers, and I let them run down to the fat head at the end. It resembled a big brown apple except that inside the depression where the stem would normally be was an open hole about the size of a pea. Inside the hole the lining was a fresh pink.
The pony was blowing softly and turned to nuzzle me on the ear. He didn't seem to mind that we were so curious about his huge part. His thing was easily thirteen or fourteen inches long.
"I wonder if we could get it to come," Helen mused.
"You mean, jerk it off?" I asked.
"Do you think he would stand for it?" she asked me, in turn.
"How would you do it?" I wanted to know. "I mean, without him kicking you?"
She had begun jacking at the penis with her closed fingers, but her tiny hand seemed inadequate, scarcely reaching around. "I don't know if he likes that or not," she said. She stopped and shifted her position. The pony neighed deep in his throat.
"See," I said, smiling. "He doesn't want you to stop."
"It's hard to do because of the angle," she revealed, and rolled onto her back, reaching up to continue stimulating the animal.
I watched as she worked. The pony was showing no signs of losing the erection, but didn't seem particularly excited, either, as I would have imagined him to be when sexually aroused. He seemed to be tolerating it more than enjoying it.
"Oh!" Helen exhaled, "all the blood ran out of my arm and it aches. This is hard work!"
She stood up, rubbing her arm and looking at the thing. I could tell what she was thinking. Here is this magnificent thing. How can we keep it from going to waste?
"I wonder," she mused. "I wonder if that would go in. What do you think, Bea?"
Oddly, my curiosity had taken me over completely. Whereas the thought of Helen with Clyde had embarrassed me, the thought of her with the pony quickly aroused me. Clyde seemed so human. The pony was more impersonal.
I knew, though, that it was the immense thing he was carrying that outweighed all other considerations. There is nothing like the sight of meat to thoroughly distract a woman.
"Go on!" I urged, blushing in spite of myself. "Live dangerously!"
"How do you go about it?" she wanted to know. My blushing was making her blush, and we talked without looking at each others' eyes.
"Try it like with Clyde," I suggested.
"You mean, get down on all fours?" She stood thinking for a moment. "Okay," she said quickly, unbuttoning her skirt on the side. "That damn thing's got me so hot, I'll stand on my head if I have to."
Unzipping her skirt, she stepped out of it and quickly pulled down her panties. Getting down on her hands and knees, she backed up slowly at the pony. She was telling the truth about being hot. The lips on her bottom were glistening wet.
There was a burning lump in my throat that started to throb. The strangest notion came over me that I would like to be that pony right then, about to be doing whatever it was that was going to be done to Helen. The feeling must have been based on a sheer desire to want to participate, nothing else.
Helen had moved close to the pony. He nodded his head at her exposed rear, and I noticed his nostrils flare slightly as he nosed at her open pussy. He muffled at it, and I saw the tongue flick for an instant.
"Yi!" she exploded. "What a feeling!" I stroked my juicy twat harder. "Anything doing?" she asked.
"He's not exactly hell bent for leather," I said. "Do you suppose you have to be in heat?" I asked her.
"Sis, I'm in heat thirty days a month," she informed me.
"You know what Cunningham said," I reminded her.
She got up and rubbed at herself. "Damnation! There must be a way." She walked around the animal, banging her fist into the palm of her hand.
Something someone had told me once about Catherine the Great of Russia came to mind. "How about like a hammock, underneath?" I suggested.
"You mean like a sling?"
I nodded. In a fit, I disrobed and got underneath the animal, placing my arms around his neck. The space between his front legs wasn't too wide, and I had to force them apart. His big thing poked at my belly. I looked up at Helen. "Like this."
"Well," she said, "go ahead. I'll be glad to wait my turn."
I felt a thrill run through my body. Why not, I thought. Moving up further on the animal, I felt the heavy weight of the end of his penis move slowly down my belly as I inched forward. When it reached the crest of the mound, I stopped.
"Can you lift my legs over his back?" I asked Helen.
She grabbed hold of first one and then the other, holding them until I had a chance to lock the feet together. In making the adjustment, however, I lost contact with the head of his organ. The big apple bounced on the top of my pussy, came to rest momentarily on a good spot, where it tamped briefly, then fell off down below my ass.
"Point it, point it!" I nearly shrieked at Helen.
"Jeepers!" she gushed. In a second she was down on the floor, grabbing hold of the fat thing. She had to bring it up almost parallel with his belly to get it into position. "Is that good?"
"Down a little more. No! Too much. That's it. Hold it there, right there." I was beginning to breathe faster. "Work it in a little. Oh, gosh!"
I could feel the enormous head beginning to slip inward. The pony was evidently not going to do anything but stand there, so I had complete control. Almost by definition, though, the thing seemed to be entering me. The opening began to stretch.
"Oh, oh! Sis! Oh, oh! Oh wow!!"
With a rush, the head cleared the opening and plunged softly into me. I was conscious of an enormous filling. The feeling continued for some time.
"Oh Sis," I drooled, "it's wonderful. How much is in? Can you see?" My breathing was short. I was wishing the animal would start pumping or something. The pleasure seemed long and drawn-out with no movement.
Helen was rubbing her fingers into herself vigorously. "About half of it, I guess," she said.
I moved forward more actively than before and was aware of it packing in slowly, deeper and deeper. After about a minute I was stuffed almost beyond endurance.
"Is it all in now?" I asked, breathlessly.
"There's still a lot out, Sis," she said apologetically.
My face must have shown my disappointment.
"Bea, you can't expect… I mean, there's an awful lot there."
Try as hard as I might have wanted to, I could not force any more inside, and gave up trying. I began to contract the muscles in my thighs in an effort to initiate some movement back and forth. I was packed full, and it was lovely, but I wanted things to go all the way.
My biceps just were not that strong and I soon tired. Helen saw my predicament.
"I have an idea," she said. Running into the kitchen, she soon returned with a fly swatter. "Hold on!" she commanded.
She began swatting the rear end of the pony, yelling at him to giddyap. The effect on the beast was electric. He took off around the living room at a trot, and at last I began to feel some movement inside me. It wasn't much but it was having an effect.
He kept following the same path until one turn around the sofa cut a little sharp. He ran up onto it with his front hooves practically sitting me down on it. I held on and he began to make thrusts at me. He had finally been aroused.
"Hooray!" Helen yelled. "Ride 'em, cowboy!"
It was much rougher than I had been prepared to take. The latent strength in the animal, finally mobilized to action, was incredible. Some instinct at work in him was driving him to sink the last full measure of his phallus inside me. I began howling from the mixture of pleasure and pain.
"Helen," I gasped, "I don't know if I can take it!"
My sister just stood there transfixed by the spectacle, as the animal drove still deeper. He was sweating profusely, the horsey, leathery smell overpowering me. What's it going to be like when this animal comes? I wondered.
As exhausted and jammed up with meat as I felt, a warm feeling began to grow inside me. As it increased, the pain of being stretched to unbearable limits subsided. I was embarrassed to come in front of my sister and squeezed my eyes shut.
"Helen, I'm going to have an orgasm. Don't took," I managed to blurt out.
The pony was blowing hard through his nostrils. I felt him drive particularly hard on one thrust. The hot come suddenly spurted out and around the sides of his organ, for my vagina could not contain it all. I could hear the drops hitting the floor and landing gosh knows where. I heard Helen shriek.
My climax came over me, then. It seemed to me I was going to become part of the sofa, sinking deeper and deeper into the cushions. In the dim recesses of my brain while sinking, I felt the pony withdraw. The sudden loss of all that power within me left a great void, as though I had just given birth to the Empire State Building.
The next thing I was aware of was Helen standing over me. She was talking to me, but the words didn't register.
"What?" I managed to say drowsily.
"I said I could drive a truck through there. Look at you!" She was pointing to my bottom. I must have been in a beautiful position for someone to walk in on us, then. Flat on my back with my head buried in the cushions, my feet on the floor, and my knees spread and pointing in the air.
I managed to sit up after a fashion. I felt sore as blazes. Looking down at myself, I saw that I had been reamed out to the point where I was afraid things would never close up again.
Struggling to my feet, I took the robe from Helen and headed for the stairs. "I'm going to soak in a hot tub for the next hour," I moaned. "At least an hour. Do not disturb!"
Helen was laughing. "That was supposed to be mine, you lucky girl."
I turned on the stairs. "By all means, be my guest," I said, extending my hand in a magnanimous gesture. "By the way, where's the family stud?"
"In the garage, happily munching grain," she announced, "and does he have an appetite!" She seemed pleased that I had done something at long last to overcome what she regarded as prudery, or perhaps excess modesty.
The hot bath felt good. I was still sore and quite open. I couldn't help wondering if I was ever going to be able to enjoy an average-size penis again. I wasn't torn. Just stretched. Hadn't it always shrunk back to normal limits? Why should this be any different? I had to admit it was an extreme case.
Helen was on the telephone when I came downstairs. She was talking to someone about Clyde. From the gist of the conversation, it must have been the owner of a kennel. They were talking about registration papers and the fact that without AKC registration, the dog could not be sold at a high price.
I had an appointment that evening to visit a Mr. Ben Cameron in Highland Park, the next town over from Irving. Cunningham had given me the man's name and telephone number as the owner of a pony. I had called Cameron, and he had seemed happy to have me come over and take some pictures.
Helen had begged off accompanying me. She had to stay by the telephone, she had said, in case some news about Clyde developed.
She completed her call and came over to the sofa where I sat. "Would you believe the mess?" she asked, pointing to the spot on the floor. She sat down and stared at it blankly. "I can tell Jack I spilled a drink. What say we have one?" she suggested.
I opted for a beer, and she got up to go to the kitchen. While she was getting the drinks the doorbell rang. I rose to see who it was. It turned out to be the paper boy making a weekly collection.
"Look in one of Jack's coat pockets in the closet," Helen called from the kitchen.
I fished through several suit coats and jackets. Feeling what I thought was a loose dollar, I pulled out only to find I had a plain white slip of paper with a telephone number written on it in pencil. The number looked vaguely familiar. I stuffed it back into the pocket.
Helen had to come to the rescue with some change from a kitchen drawer. We sat down then and quietly drank. I had to sit with my feet up on the end of the couch. Helen chuckled at my aches and pains.
After dinner it was still bothering me as I drove over to Highland Park. We had sat very quietly during dinner. Jack had been in a much better mood than the night before and had valiantly tried to cheer Helen up. She was too worried about him finding the spot on the carpet and complaining about the pony, to be at ease.
I was glad in a way to get out of the house. Cameron, as I soon found out, lived in a house not unlike Jack and Helen's. The neighborhood was a more expensive-looking one, larger lots, some nicer homes, but the difference was merely a matter of degree of income, rather than of lifestyles.
Cameron answered the door himself. He was a gruff kind of a man. I judged him to be in his fifties. He explained to me that he was a bachelor and like all bachelors his small talk with young ladies was not very smooth.
I noticed he was wearing a kilt, and commented on it. He told me he was born in Scotland, but never wore them in the States except at home.
The pony was in the living room when we entered. It was standing so still it appeared to be a statue at first. It was a gorgeous animal, a mare, with softer features than the pony at Helen's. I noticed, too, the blue eyes Cunningham had told me about.
Cameron offered me a Scotch highball, and we sat and talked about the pony. He was very fond of her, he said. They were just like an old married couple, he felt. He saw me raise an eyebrow at that, and reddened.
"It's the whole truth, lass," he said, making no bones about it. "I won't deny it."
I wondered, though, if he had actually caught my meaning. He called to the pony, speaking slowly and affectionately. The animal trotted right over and licked at his ear. He asked it to lie down beside him, which it did without hesitation.
"You can see, my dear, she's quite fond of me, too," he asserted.
He explained that the Shetland Isles were off the coast of Scotland and that Iceland, too, was not really so far away, and for that reason undoubtedly the two of them got along so well.
I noticed a small platform in one comer of the room. It was about a foot high off the floor. He explained to me that he used it for playing the pipes. When he had guests he frequently performed for them on the bagpipes and used the platform like a stage.
When he mentioned the word "platform", the pony suddenly got up and trotted over to it. She stepped up onto it, threw up her tail, and I was able to observe immediately that the animal was in heat.
Cameron reacted instantly. "Dash it all, Heather," he said, shooting me an embarrassed look and getting up. "Come now, girl. That won't do," he said to her, walking over and trying to coax her off. "That won't do at all."
"Why does she do that?" I asked, walking over to them.
Cameron thought I was asking why she kept opening and closing her hole. "Why, lass, she craves the dork, as they say." He was having difficulty being at ease. The pony had embarrassed him, and he didn't know how to handle both her and me at the same time.
"I meant, why does she mount the platform like that?"
"That? Well!" He cleared his throat. "Heather wants to hear the pipes, don't you, girl? I'll get the pipes and well have a tune, we will." He walked over to a closet and brought out a set of bagpipes.
He stood there then, playing a quickstep and tapping his feet. The pony turned around once and looked at him rather oddly, but otherwise continued standing in the same position, opening and closing her organ in the violent manner that is the animal's nature.
I took a picture of the pair of them just like that, the pony calmly listening to the sweating, huffing Scotsman's music. It might have seemed more natural for the pony to be facing the music in this case. Perhaps when he was through, I could rearrange the pose. I set the camera down and waited.
He was done shortly, and I asked him.
"Lass," he began, "She'll not be changing that position. Take my word for it. You may as well put it out of your mind." He seemed certain, and I did not press for the pose. He returned his bagpipes to the closet, and we went back to our chairs.
The remainder of our conversation was strained. Cameron seemed to have something on his mind and was anxious to conclude our interview. I felt he had probably lost face somehow when the pony would not heed his request to get off the platform. I thanked him warmly and he walked me to the door.
Out in the car I realized I had left my camera inside the house and returned to the front door. It had not been shut tightly and I could hear Cameron talking inside.
"Heather, darling," he was saying. "Did you have to do that, my lass? The young Lassie was near to finding out all about the way I feel about you."
Curiosity got the better of me and I squeezed just inside the door. From the vestibule I could, by standing close to the wall, peer around into the living room.
The pony was standing where I had last seen her. Cameron was over behind her stroking her rump with his large hands. To my surprise he had an erection. A rather broad, fat, ruddy penis jutted up out of his kilt at a forty-five degree angle.
He kept stroking the animal's hindquarters and speaking to her in soothing tones. With the pony on the platform, he was in a good position, simply by moving forward and tilting his organ down about fifteen degrees, to copulate with it. It seemed obvious to me that was his intention.
I didn't have long to wait. Cameron began catching at his breath as he became more aroused. He dropped his kilt suddenly and stepped out of it. Bending his penis slightly downward he brought it within a fraction of an inch of the pony's throbbing hole.
He waited momentarily like that, apparently trying to time his thrust to coincide with the wide-open phase of the vagina's openings and closings. He rocked slightly in rhythm with them and then suddenly lunged forward.
The timing was apparently right. The pony's hole closed over Cameron's organ in an enormous grip, and held it tightly, pulling the man off his feet.
Cameron cried out and fell forward, clutching the pony about her flanks. The massive vagina seemed to undulate and slobber, making gurgling noises as it attempted to consume the somewhat inadequate organ it had captured. The animal neighed and kicked out at the man's legs convulsively.
Cameron came very quickly under such conditions. I saw him try to extricate himself.
It didn't seem to be an easy task, but he did pull away, failing back against the closet door where he leaned, panting, for some moments. "That's a good lass, that's a careful lass," he kept muttering to himself.
The pony, seeing that he had finished, stepped off the platform and walked over to him, nuzzling at his hand. In spite of the violent nature of what had just occurred, the relationship was returning to a tender phase.
Cameron patted the pony's brow. They remained there like that, exchanging gentle touches of one kind or another, and I was reminded of Cameron's statement about them being like an old married couple. The term suited them at that moment.
Finally, his arm around the pony's neck, he turned with her and walked back into the house somewhere. He was speaking to the pony again in soft tones as the tapping of the hooves beat a staccato accompaniment across the floor.
I waited until I was sure they had gotten out of earshot before stepping into the living room and retrieving my camera. Very quietly, I pulled the door shut and stepped out into the cool Texas evening.