The Pony Lover
by Richard Christy
(btb-164)


CHAPTER ONE 

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 ground 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. 

And he loved her. 


THE END
