Beastiality

Her name was Melanie. Her beauty was legend. Men came from miles around
just for the chance to bathe themselves in her graceful aura.

But it was the rarest of occasions when a courting man could find the
lovely princess with her two feet planted on the warm earth.

Melanie was always off with the wind. She was an expert rider. And
there was one horse she loved to ride very much.

You might be able to catch a fleeting glimpse of her if you were up at
the crack of dawn when she sped through the countryside on her
Lightning.

That was the name of her precious horse. He was faster than all the
horses in her daddy’s stables and her favorite.

Some of the neighboring townsfolk even hinted that her desire for her
young stallion bordered on the ludicrous.

Be that as it may, there was nothing on this blessed earth that could
ever quench the passion she had for that horse.

When Melanie was straddled atop the charcoal-gray beast a power surged
through her that suffused through her whole body.

She had never known a feeling like that except with her precious
Lightning and she doubted whether a man could ever make her feel the
same way.

Only to herself did she admit that she was in love with the beautiful
stallion. And only in her dreams.

They would be flying through the countryside like was their habit in
the wake-a-day world, the breeze making her soft, dirty-blond hair whip
around her creamy white face.

But there was a blank spot in the dream that she could never
understand. They would be riding fast and come to a clearing.

In this clearing stood a house made of glass. She rode into the archway
opening on top of her favorite horse and entered into it.

Inside of the glass house, her eyes were dazzled by the glittering
rainbow aura that filled the stately place.

The colors blazed with the intensity of an inferno but there wasn’t the
accompanying heat one would expect.

It was cool and inviting inside although the place was glazed in a
rainbow spectrum that was breathtakingly beautiful.

Melanie would feel herself losing her breath inside the image of her
fabulous dream from the tremendous burst of color.

She peered intently into the blazing color. Slowly it began to ebb away
and a gap sprung up and pushed the colors to the side.

It was a huge, round circular gap whose circumference was defined by
the bevy of fiery color encircling it.

Without having to shake his reins, Lightning began to make his way
toward the celestial opening.

As they plodded closer to the magnificent abyss, Melanie could make out
a design forming in its center.

The design began to take a definite shape and before long it possessed
a definite substance. There was something there.

As they approached the mirage the colors began to fade away. But there
was still the aura of the rainbow present.

It was just that her perspective had changed. They were now inside the
magnificent bubble that had opened before them. The structure that had
formed itself in front of their eyes was clearly visible. It was a
large circular platform.

It was spinning on its axis. The closer she and Lightning came toward
it the faster it would spin.

It began to make her dizzy. She wanted to take her eyes off it to stop
the feeling of vertigo pulsing through her.

But no matter how hard she tried to turn her gaze from it she just
could not do it, and Lightning kept moving inexorably forward.

She pulled on the reins to stop his forward movement. But for the first
time in her life he would not heed her command.

She did not want to pull too hard and force the bit into his mouth. She
never had to do that and she didn’t want to do it now.

But she couldn’t help the fact that the spinning platform was making
her dizzy, nauseous even.

In the dream she felt herself falling off her strong stallion. But she
never hit the ground and just kept falling.

Now she was lost in the swoon of her vertigo trance. When she finally
realized herself back in one piece she was lying down.

She was on the spinning platform. It was soft and warm and she could
feel a cool breeze caressing her naked body.

When she looked up she could see the awesome glitter that dazzled her
inside the glass dome she and Lightning had entered.

The platform was unusually warm. In her dream it reminded her of the
times she was delirious from a high temperature and her bed pulsed with
her heat.

But she was not sick. Something else was warming the platform bed and
causing its soft folds to flame up in heat.

She turned to her left. For a long moment her eyes could not focus on
the being lying next to her because the spectacle of the glitter was
still dazzling them.

Then the form of the being became clear. It was Lightning. He was lying
next to her on the spinning platform.

She began to tingle with excitement. It came home to her at this point
in the dream that this was a situation she had always secretly yearned
for.

But only in her dream world did she have the courage to imagine it. She
knew where her eyes wanted to rove to but she had to force herself to
look there.

Slowly her gaze swept lower and lower toward the belly of the beast.
The object she was searching for was inches away from her gaze.

She lost her courage the moment before the line of her eyesight would
catch hold of his fantastic member.

But she was determined to realize her dream. She was living an unspoken
goal inside her sleeping head and had to see it through.

She gritted her teeth and raised up her courage and forced her neck
down to see the obscenity her eyes would not move to encompass within
sight.

Finally the object of desire came into her heated view. When she saw it
she heard the blasting burst of an army of trumpets.

Lightning’s two-foot-long cock lay throbbing on his upturned belly. It
was a magnificent cock.

It shocked her to the quick at the mere sight of it. Now that her gaze
was fastened upon it she had to touch it.

But every time she groped for it the cock would escape her grasp. She
became frantic and lunged at it with both hands.

But she could not touch it. It was a dream. You cannot touch dreams.
The sense of touch must be enacted in the real world.

She woke up. She was hanging off the side of her big bed. Her satin
sheets had been kicked off during her reverie.

She was covered in sweat. The yearning desire for Lightning’s massive
cock pulsed through her now, even while awake.

But her consciousness would not let her believe that she desired it so.
She wiped her forehead of its perspiration.

She walked around the room trying to regain her former perspective on
things that the dream had just usurped.

She convinced herself that it was only a dream and had nothing to do
with the real world. It was just a dream.

Melanie was a bright girl. Her talent and grace had as much to do with
her sense of beauty as did her voluptuous body.

Deep in her heart she knew that the dream was an expression of
something she wanted very much in the real world.

But the love of an animal, especially one with a sexually spicing
allure to it, was not something one breathed to another living soul.

And if one did not confess her aims to the outer world by communicating
with a living soul the only outlet left was her dreams.

As smart as she was, her conscience would not let the image of love for
her Lightning become a goal that she would actively seek.

When she finally managed to calm herself and explained away the meaning
of the dream as a mere lifeless fantasy, she tucked herself back in
bed.

It was then and only then that she realized that her beautiful, blond-
haired cunt was sopping wet.

She felt her juices flow. She made no connection between her sopping
gash and the lustful desires exposed in her dream.

She closed her eyes and began to doze off back into sleep. Her muscles
relaxed and she could feel the warm glow of unconsciousness begin to
overtake.

Then she heard the high-pitched whinny of her favorite stallion pierce
the hot air of the moonlit night and bolt her back awake.

Was that a dream too? Had she just heard a communicative moan come
issuing out of the snorting mouth of her fantasy lover?

The memory of the dream came back now full force. The image of when she
first laid eyes on his massive, erect member burned in her brain.

It was useless to sleep now. No matter what position she assumed to get
comfortable two things kept haunting her: the high-pitched whine of her
lovely stallion and the image of his rock-hard pole.

When she sat down to breakfast the next morning her father could not
help but notice the heavy bags underneath her pretty blue eyes.

“Honey, are you all right.”

“I’m fine. I just had a restless night, that’s all.”

“You don’t look well. Perhaps I should call the doctor.”

“No, please, it’s not necessary. I’m fine really.”

“Maybe this is a good time to discuss what you would like for your
birthday.”

“There is that lovely saddle I saw in town. It would look perfect on
Lightning.”

Franklin Barker frowned at the mention of the horse’s name. He couldn’t
understand why a pretty young girl like Melanie was so obsessed with
that animal.

Every since her mother died three years ago, Melanie had become a bit
of an introvert. Boys were constantly calling on her and she was always
turning them down.

“How about a lovely gold necklace. I saw the perfect one in a store on
the avenue. You could wear it at your party.”

“What party?”

“Why your birthday party, of course.”

“Did I say I wanted a birthday party?”

“Melanie, don’t be silly. It’s your Eighteenth birthday party. It’s a ritual
everyone’s looking forward to.”

“But I don’t want it.”

“But I insist. It’ll be a chance to socialize a bit. You’ve been stuck
around the farm too much.”

“What’s wrong with horseback riding.”

“Why nothing. But there are other things you know.”

“Like what?”

“Like pretty things that all girls your age want, jewelry and such.
Besides, the party will give you the opportunity to get to know Larry
better. He was here just the other day looking for you, but you were
out riding Lightning.”

“I don’t want to be with Larry. He bores me.”

“Very well, what about Carter Marington. He’s a nice young boy. He’s a
perfect gentleman, and believe me, a father should know.”

“He doesn’t like to ride horses.”

“You could teach him. He could have the pick of the breed. Let him ride
Lightning. He’s very tame.”

“No,” Melanie shrieked, “that’s impossible.”

Franklin Barker did not know what he had said to make his daughter so
upset. He had merely suggested the obvious thing.

For a person just learning to ride, Lightning was the perfect choice.
He rarely bucked and took to people easily.

“Are you going to get me the saddle or not.”

“There are better things for a young girl. Why not come to town with me
today and pick out whatever you like.”

“I can’t. It’s time for me and Lightning to go on our morning ride.”

What was her damn obsession with that stupid horse? Her father decided
to put his foot down, this was getting ridiculous.

“Melanie, you spend entirely too much time here on the farm. It’s time
you got out, you know, started making a few friends.”

“I’m happy the way I am.”

“Well, I don’t think so. I’m going to do something about it.”

Melanie hated when her father acted this way. It seemed like he was
trying to make up for her mother’s death.

He was always blaming himself for her sickness, something that he
really couldn’t have done anything about.

He felt it his duty to play two roles with her, one as father and the
other as a surrogate mother.

She hated him when he tried to assume the role of mother. He wasn’t any
good at it. What man was?

“Are you going to get me the saddle for Lightning.”

“I’ll give you anything you want except that.”

“But that’s what I really want.”

“You’re too pre-occupied with things here on the farm. I’m throwing
that party for you and you’re going to enjoy yourself.”

He looked at her defiant expression. When her face assumed that
frowning countenance she reminded him so much of her mother.

Her pert little nose raised up and her small nostrils flared out in
rebellious defiance. Her high cheekbones flamed red.

Her chin was slightly raised and she drew in her cheeks just a
fraction. She seethed with a fury she could barely control.

But she did because no matter what she still respected her father. He
had been good to her, though he sometimes overcompensated for things he
had no control over.

When he assumed his authoritative stance she knew that it was
impossible for her to argue with him. And right now he was quite
adamant.

He had it up to here with that fuckin’ horse. She spent too much time
with that damn thing. It was getting way out of hand.

“All right, for you daddy, I’ll do it.”

“That’s my girl.”

The knowledge that something was terribly wrong with his daughter, that
she was the victim of some sort of neurosis, burst into Franklin
Barker’s brain.

Years of assuming the role of mother had filled him with an intuitive
awareness that was alien to most men.

In a strange way the death of his wife had made him realize the woman
in himself. Also that the urge existed in all men as well.

Having to convince one’s daughter to throw her sweet-sixteen party that
was a holy ritual around this part of the South was not a good
indication of normality.

The death of her mother had affected her to a greater degree than
Franklin Barker had ever thought possible.

The party would be his last hope to try and bring her to her senses.
After that, if she didn’t snap out of it, he would have to seek out
professional help for her.

The hard part would be convincing her that something was wrong to begin
with. She thought it was perfectly natural for a girl her age to be
riding horses all day.

If she wasn’t beautiful he could understand her choice to lead a
reclusive life. But that surely wasn’t the case at all, not at all.

Her breasts were large and uplifted, exactly in the same manner as her
mother’s, and her poised look gave her a regal air. Her face never
dropped its mask, not even for an instant. You could never read her
real thoughts. Her guard was always up.

Her mother could convey the same air of sensuous indifference. Her
glaze of irony weighed on your soul.

It was a look that said now impress me. If you can’t I will impress
myself with whatever whim strikes my peculiar fantasies and desires.

It was a type of independence that when a woman revealed it men were
intimidated. It was taken as an unfeminine gesture.

They could not imagine a woman having the courage to make real her own
aims, that is, at least, without a man to guide her.

Franklin Barker had won his wife’s love by being the one man in her
life who did not mind her brazen indifference to chauvinist talents.

All men had them, but few could understand that it was a part of a
man’s character that often got in the way of his clear perception of
reality.

A woman, who was allowed to realize her ambitions by expressing herself
in the manner she, and only she, saw fit, had a positive effect on the
man closest to her in her life.

And Franklin Barker had been that man. She was not a submissive woman
in the sense that she would settle for anything less than ultimate
success in the pursuit of her dreams.

Perhaps that was what they had had more than anything else, the perfect
dream life, where reality itself had lost its substance.

It was a strange kind of love bond that had existed between them. In
fact, Franklin Barker felt sure that in some mysterious way it was
still existing.

He was not a spiritualist. On the contrary, he was a very practical
man. That was why he allowed his wife’s talents to emerge free of his
charges.

But that mysterious aura that surrounded her death still plagued him.
To this day he still could not figure out what the fuck had happened.

All of a sudden one day he came home and found her dead. Doctors had
diagnosed it as a cerebral hemorrhage.

It had struck her from out of the blue. There would have been no way,
they had assured him, to have known that something was wrong with her.

The problem could have existed within her from birth. Things like this
were impossible to detect.

And then one day the bubble burst inside her brain and it was all over.
It had broken his heart. It made him philosophical.

He expected nothing. Yet with this kind of guiding attitude toward life
one’s senses were much sharper and alert.

Franklin Barker’s mind often flew off into flights of spiritual vigor
that left him more spent when it was over than any physical orgasm he
had ever experienced.

He accepted everything around him as perfect and symbolic of the life
he had led and built for himself.

That was how he could tell there was something terribly wrong with his
lovely daughter. He could see his mistakes in her.

She was very much a part of him, he knew that. Like all children she
had learned to look at life from the cues she picked up from her
parents.

And like all parents they had tried to supply the best model of love
that they were capable of expressing. But with one crucial difference:
unlike most people, Franklin and Nora Barker had achieved a powerful
bond in their relationship.

It carried him through depressing moments even to this day. The fact
that her physical presence had ceased to exist had not dulled his sense
of her. The things that they had experienced; strangely enough, was not
what he thought about the most.

Being a practical man and a successful rancher and businessman who had
succeeded in amassing a small fortune, he had learned never to look
over one’s shoulder.

The present was a result of past actions, of that there was no doubt,
but it had little to do with the future.

The future, by way of association, is a function of the present, and
that is a new moment every time and never dependent on the past.

The only part of the past that remained inside the psyche of Franklin
Barker, was not his memories, but the effects of his experiences.

By allowing his wife to grow he was able to imitate her unique powers.
Most men’s egos could not endure such a blow.

Few men allow a woman to teach them anything. Their pride will not
accept the fact that they must give of themselves to receive.

Franklin Barker feared for his daughter. There was something he had
missed along the way that just didn’t make any sense.

There was a connection between the way Melanie’s mother had died and
the strange way she was acting now.

If he could only retrace the events that led to her mother’s death he
might still be able to save Melanie.

But how does one decipher the symbolic nature of a cerebral hemorrhage?
The very thought itself was a contradiction in terms.

To try and understand the why behind a person’s death was tantamount to
playing God. But the future of his daughter was at stake.

He watched her walk from the porch where he sat eating his breakfast
and make her way over to the stables.

The farm hands were waving to her and in general giving her a warm
greeting. But Melanie only gave the merest hint of a smile.

Her loose fitting blouse and jeans waved in the cool breeze that swept
over a busy farm that was beginning to heat up with the days
activities.

Men were working hard mending fences and hauling stacks of hay across
the dusty red clay swirling up from the cool breeze.

His foreman, Mullady Mistler, was helping her to saddle up her
Lightning and pack her leather pouch with carrots.

He watched her fine figure mount the charcoal-gray stallion and then
nuzzle herself around the soft saddle atop the horse’s back.

She bent over its long blond mane and he could see the wisps of her own
dirty blond hair intermingle with the horse’s. She whispered something
in its ear. Then there was a momentary delay after she gave her order
and she straightened herself up on the saddle. The birds stopped their
chirping song. All the men’s eyes were glued on the scene of the girl
and horse poised for action.

Then like a crack of thunder. Lightning took off and bolted in the
direction of the scenic hills that framed the horizon.

It was an inspiring spectacle to watch them fleeing into the sun-
drenched valley at such a fierce and charging velocity.

Her movements gracefully complemented the steed’s thunderous muscular
vibrations from the rhythm of his headlong, furious pace.

He’d never seen anything like it. They way she could handle that horse
was a miracle to behold. He had never seen anyone ride as fast as that.

Their bodies merged into one figure as the sped their way toward the
horizon. It gave Franklin Barker the illusion of a chimera, those
ancient half-person, half-horse beings with human heads and the body of
a horse.

He kept his gaze fixed upon the speeding figure until his eyes burned
from the strain of searching out the receding form.

He breathed a sigh and stood up.
Melanie bent lower over Lightning’s beautiful mane while whispering
sweet songs of inducement into its ear.

She told it that it was the fastest thing alive, that its power was
tribute to the strength nature blessed it with.

The feeling of speeding like a bullet, complete with the thrill of that
initial blast from the barrel, pulsed through her.

Lightning was in a feverish mood today. It was rare when the horse was
doing anything she wanted to please her.

She loved when he started up like that. The first thing she always said
to the horse upon mounting it was, “Go, Lightning, go as fast as you
can like a crack of thunder.”

And they bolted from a standing position like a shot out of a cannon.
It thrilled her to the marrow when she experienced it.

She always said that to the horse as soon as she was comfortable in the
saddle but it was not all the time that Lightning granted her wish.

The horse could be cantankerous when it wanted to be. Some days it
would obey her initial command, but only halfheartedly.

Other times he wouldn’t listen at all. It was often after a period of
time when they were separated.

Her father forced her into going into town with him and introducing her
around. There was no doubt that he was very proud of her.

Sometimes he took her away for a weekend. Lightning was very surly and
hard to handle when she came back.

Sometimes it felt like the horse had a will that kept drawing her to
it. Sometimes it did the smartest things.

Like today Lightning knew that everyone was watching them. And as long
as they were he was going to impress them.

If they were wondering why the both of them spent so much time
together, bolting away from them like that at top speed gave them an
inkling as to why.

Lightning could thrill her like no other being on earth. He was showing
off his strength in front of the husky men.

Top that, the horse was trying to say as they sped from the ranch at
top speed, I dare you to do better than this.

Her imagination often dwelled on her love for the animal. She also knew
that perhaps she was imagining a bit too much.

Perhaps the horse was just feeling particularly vigorous today, for
whatever reason. She remembered the dream. When she had wakened from
the dream, she had heard Lightning call to her in a high-pitched
whinny. Had she imagined that too?

As if the horse was reading her thoughts this very moment, Lightning
whinnied and slowed his pace with short, jolting bucks.

She had not expected the horse to pull up like that. She was so used to
her legs around its form that she adjusted with hardly any trouble at
all.

The horse stopped short and then pranced at a slow gait gently rocking
her from side to side from the swaying motion of its flanks.

She could feel her body mold to the power of the horse’s powerful form.
She felt as one with it, not a separate entity at all.

They were together. It was at these moments that Lightning ceased to be
a thing–HE BECAME A PERSON.

They communicated. They understood one another. They were both beings,
like spirits, you might say, housed in two different kinds of bodies.

The fact that that made all the difference in the world did not occur
to the naive and lovely Melanie Barker.

Her rebellious spirit blinded her to the obvious fact that they were
destined for different realities that could never hope to merge as one.

Little women are allowed these impossible fantasies. Rarely do they
have the opportunity to make it real. A wicked moment awaited her.

Of course, her awareness was also dulled by the maze of conflicting
images that pulsed through her young brain.

Her buried fantasies were finding an outlet because some sin was
plaguing her. All these things she knew only in pictures, not words.

Just like her father she felt somehow responsible for the death of her
mother. But it wasn’t guilt exactly.

It was more like Melanie, as her daughter, was the only one who could
erase this unnamed sin. She too instinctively felt, like her father,
that Lightning held the answer.

There was something about this horse that was inextricably bound up
with her mother, perhaps much more than she knew.

Melanie could see these images inside her mind’s eye as they bubbled up
to consciousness. But she couldn’t control them.

Because she could not express what was happening to her in words, she
could not center the images on a focal point.

Something was bothering her, she knew that. What it was exactly she
couldn’t tell. Her body made her do crazy things that preyed on her
mind.

She loved the feeling between her legs as her young cunny bounced on
the smooth leather saddle in time to Lightning’s steady, rhythmic pace.

She could feel that she was wet down there. It often happened while
riding the beautiful stallion through the sun-drenched valley.

It was their favorite spot. Some of their best moments together had
happened between the walls of the mountain they lay in between now. A
beautiful red-winged butterfly the span of which was outlined in a
felt-like black trim flew in front of her blue eyes.

She was fascinated by its graceful flight that seemed to leave misty
and blurry whips of color in its wake.

Melanie knew that this was impossible, colors did not leave comet-like
trails in their wake showing where they had been.

The flight of the butterfly left a trace of its stimulating sight on
the fronts of her glistening eyes. It was the after-effects of this
image that she projected onto the real world.

So that when she saw the butterfly’s dazzling colors seem to burn a
hazy exhaust into the clear air of the sun-drenched valley, she
believed she was witness to a miracle.

She was convinced that the butterfly was trying to tell her something.
It was there for a reason, acting like a guide.

It wasn’t telling her to do anything. The gesture of its presence and
the way its colors painted the transparent air delivered its message.

Her clit was ringing and pulsing. She hadn’t completely noticed it
until now. Her cunny was really on fire.

As they rode together in the sun-bathed glade her hips loosened their
grip around the saddle and the tender vise of her inner thighs rubbed
from one side to the other along the smooth saddle in time to the
rhythm of Lightning’s steady pace.

A strange feeling overtook her. Out of the blue an image pulsed in her
brain. It was a picture of her riding Lightning completely in the nude.

The thought of it made her issue an excited gasp. It was too terrible
to keep thinking of but gave her a frightful arousal.

She was ashamed to have thought of it. Lightning was hardly making a
sound. His strong feet took each step very gingerly.

She got the distinct impression that the horse was thinking the same
thing as her. The sweat broke out on her forehead.

She couldn’t tell what was real and what was her imagination. The
entire scene looked like it could dissolve at any minute right before
her eyes.

Perhaps she had never wakened from that dream of her and Lightning
entering the curved archway of the house made of glass.

Pinching herself made no difference. She felt the pain but it still did
not assure her that everything that was happening was real.

The image of Lightning’s blood gorged, two-foot-long constrictor
flashed in her head as clear as if she was remembering it from real
life.

The black and red butterfly once again came into view. It seemed larger
and bursting with color.

Either it was getting bigger or she was getting smaller. Her cunt kept
burning and the crotch of her jeans was wet and showing through.

She very slowly unbuttoned the loose blouse that hung around her large,
firm breasts and let the wind flap it open.

The cool breeze flew inside the folds and whisked her breasts bare of
the light fabric that framed her cleavage.

Her breaths became definite pants expressing her obvious heat. She
noticed that her hands were gripping the horn of the saddle.

Without even thinking to do it, she had been rubbing her hot cunt up
and down the length of the saddle pumping her back and forth.

Her hands gripped the horn and her arms were held straight out to give
her the needed leverage to perform the feat.

She removed her blouse and threw it on the ground. She smiled from the
rush of pleasure the lewd act gave her.

She arched her back and took a deep breath, which made her aroused
breasts thrust themselves out and harden the nipples from the feel of
the caressing breeze.

She was proud of herself. She had satisfied a heretofore-unstated urge.
She was riding topless atop her favorite stallion.

Her expression of lust filled her head with confidence. She felt free
and uninhibited and capable of much more.

It suddenly seemed very hot out. Her hot tits were cooled by the gentle
breeze that blew through the valley but her legs were sweaty. Lightning
was moving at an extremely slow pace. The horse seemed to be waiting
for her to set a direction or give a command.

Without her steed running like mad through the sun-drenched glade, the
burning weight of the summer day began to weigh upon her.

Something moved behind the bush to her immediate right. She had seen it
out of the corner of her eye. She turned toward it and laid her full
gaze upon it.

The bush seemed to be on fire. Wait a minute, it was the butterfly
again! Its crazy blaze of color glowed behind the gaps in the bush.

She was so hot from the sun’s rays that she became dizzy on the saddle.
She looked down at herself and gushed with excitement at the sight of
her breasts.

The nipples were bloated full. They were incredibly swollen and erect.
The mere sight of them made her cunt tingle like mad.

She was burning on two fronts, from inside and without. Her cunt was on
fire and the sun poured into her flesh.

She gasped as much from excitement as she did to gulp down a reviving
rush of the cool wind that provided her with a short respite. After her
lungs filled themselves, the heat once again overtook her and she had
to fight to stop herself from passing out.

Her pants were soaked in sweat. She raised one leg over the saddle and
sat there with her two legs draped over one side.

She unbuckled her belt and raised her ass so she could wiggle the waist
past her buttocks and remove the pants entirely.

She kicked them off and they flew in a heap onto the grassy ground. Her
black cunny hairs were glistening from her juices.

She whipped her leg over the saddle and could feel her dripping dew
mash against the smooth leather and glue her to the seat.

Lightning was off in a flash. As soon as the rider was fastened tightly
in position, the horse bolted at top speed.

Melanie’s beautiful blue eyes gleamed with delight and her grin
stretched from ear to ear as the wind whisked the hair across her
pretty face.

The burning flame within her and without her was being quenched by the
speeding ride of her powerful steed.

Her flowery cunt swished about the smooth surface as her thighs bounced
up down and around on the bobbing horse’s back.

Her nipples were hard as a rock. Her big tits flapped from the motion
and the sweaty under parts were dried in the cooling wind.

Her body comfortably glowed from the inside. Her passion was flowing
through her and exciting her to a grand height now that the wind cooled
her boiling skin.

Lightning was whinnying as he sped through the valley. She was blinded
from the fierce intensity of the sun’s brilliant rays.

She felt alive like never before. Only her precious Lightning could do
that to her. It was insane but true.

There was no guilt, no recriminations at this point. Everything was
pure bliss, an uninhibited delight.

It was a feeling of lust, yes, but also one of total freedom. Her
reckless abandon was reaping a fine reward.

And she knew that the horse was aware of her passion. In some strange
way beyond her ability to fully imagine, the horse was trying to court
her.

Great bellowing whinnies were rushing out of his snorting mouth without
the faintest trace of a muffle from the bit inside it.

The horse was happy and charged up. It sensed the fact that the rider
was pleased and enjoying herself on her frantic ride.

The horse did not slow down, but it changed the pace of its gallop from
a frenzied headlong run to one of long, lopping strides.

Melanie gasped in pleasure from the change of rhythm. Her cunt suffused
with a fiery glow making her clit palpitate.

Her tender underparts slapped against the wet leather between long
delays due to the horse’s arching prance that raised her flanks off the
saddle.

At that interval she felt the wind pierce into the gaping, flower of
her cunt and wonderfully irritate her burning parts.

Then her cunt pounced upon the smooth saddle and her loins shuddered in
the spastic throes of a rippling orgasm.

The electric current that pulsed through her began in her fevered clit
and then burst into flames in her cunt.

Then the wave began an incredible rise up the length of her tingling
spine and raced through her shoulders and burst forth into the wells of
her bulbous tits.

Her breasts glowed from the orgasm’s dramatic chain of flow that
inevitably settled in the flesh of her hot mounds.

Her face pulsed a beet-red. Her cunt lips glistened from her spasmic
dew that drenched them and made their redness shine forth.

Her nipples were so hard she thought that the orgasm would end only
after they had burst from their seams and gushed blood.

Lightning called a halt to the graceful and sweeping gallop with one
last mind-boggling arching swoop of his pouncing flanks.

The horse stopped dead in his tracks and Melanie’s loins fell onto to
the saddle with a splashing thud.

It wrung the last of her fantastic vibration out of her pulsating frame
and called a halt to the most fabulous orgasm she had ever experienced
in her short life.

After that thundering stop the horse proceeded at a normal pace and
allowed the beautiful rider to catch her fevered breath.

Through half-closed lids that hid a part of her sex-glazed eyes,
Melanie began to focus on the scenery before her.

Lightning was taking them over to a shady spot. An enormous tree whose
plumage rose to a grand height stood adjacent a running stream. They
slowly ambled over to the cool-looking spot. Melanie’s body was glued
to the saddle that had afforded her so much pleasure.

Lightning pulled up to the shady nook without being told. Melanie
lifted her leg and dismounted from her lovely steed.

She was wonderfully spent. Her exhaustion filled her with a peaceful
contentment. Gone were the haunting pictures of all those conflicting
images.

She was at peace. She sat down naked against the tree and closed her
eyes. She could feel and hear the horse’s rustling movements next to
her.

When she closed her lids her eyes were dazzled by a radiating glow of
enormous intensity that had the effect of making her ears ring.

It was if she was getting a picture of what her feelings were at that
very moment. With her eyes closed, she was looking at what she felt
like.

The longer she kept them closed, the more the radiance died out and
then vanished completely until there was nothing but darkness.

Lightning’s nose was brushing up against her leg. She bent them under
her neck and his nose rubbed against her cheek.

Her chin rested on her hands that cupped her bony knees and Lightning’s
cold nose rubbed up and down her bare thigh.

She kept her eyes closed and groped out a hand to feel for the lovely
soft mane that framed the horse’s large head. She felt her strength
coming back. With eyes closed and looking inside herself she searched
into the awesome black abyss.

By trying to focus her eyes into the blackness that stretched forever
under her lids they began to tear from the strain.

But for a fleeting moment she was able to gain a three dimensional
perspective of her internal picture.

And at that moment she felt like she was flying through space. The only
thing that was missing was the sun and stars.

Then the flight assumed a hoary proportion. Her sweeping glide became a
fall into a bottomless pit.

It was like being sucked under by a whirlpool, one out in the middle of
the ocean that was gigantic and awe-inspiring.

The feeling of vertigo made her bolt open her eyes. She was almost sick
to her stomach from the queasy feeling from her internal swoon.

When she opened her eyes she saw that Lightning had ambled down to the
stream and was sucking the refreshing waters.

That was funny because all the while she was sure she had been fondling
his fluffy mane in her little hand.

She had felt the horse’s nose nuzzle itself against the warm flesh of
her curveous thigh. She couldn’t have imagined that.

She closed her eyes again and this time fell off into a restful doze
that gave her back her strength.

When she rose to consciousness her brain once again began its normal
workings and the confusing maze of images were back.

Even with her eyes opened they never stopped bubbling up. Her mind’s
eye kept itself focused on the internal state.

She was looking right at the running stream. But she couldn’t see it.
She was lost in the reverie of her daydream.

She could feel the sculptured form of the light bouncing off the
ripping spray of water, but the stream itself was not registering.

The sparkle of the bobbing jets of the running current merely provided
a dazzling background to the row of images pulsing through her brain.

She groaned in fear. She had lost control of her mind! If she continued
like this she would lose all sense of reality.

She was receding backward inside herself. A part of her told her that
it was wrong but another part of her told her that it couldn’t be
helped. For better or worse she had to endure it. If one day she came
back to the world of hard reality, it would be only after she endured
this fearful head-trip.

The images in her brain were pictures of her mother and father and of
the ranch foreman Mullady Mistler.

They kept hounding her whether her eyes were closed or open; that was
the part that scared her the most.

It was as if she no longer had conscious control over her own thoughts.
They even dulled her senses and re-arranged external reality.

She could no longer tell whether something was real or an illusion
dredged up to the surface of the world from her fevered imagination.

One image wanted desperately to have itself acknowledged by her
consciousness. She dare not think it, and fought it back down.

But it was useless. Every time she thought of something else her
thoughts would return to it like they were riding a circle.

She was sweating again. She had been cool here in the shade and
couldn’t understand. Before it was the sun that had her boiling.

Now it felt like the inferno was inside of her. She was not passionate
or lusty but her temperature was rising fast.

The more she sweat and could not control her internal barometer the
more panic-stricken she became and the heat became worse.

It was on account of that image she would not let rise to her
consciousness. It demanded to be inspected and she was denying it a
hearing.

Her heart raced. Her nipples were not aroused but her fleshy breasts
shook from the intense level of her steadily palpitating heart.

She took deep breaths to calm herself and desperately groped with her
senses to find an outer stimulation that would be intense enough to
shake her awake from this terrible head-trip.

The smell of the sweaty stallion filled her nostrils. Soon the light
stopped dazzling her eyes and the bubbling stream came into view.

She could hear the sound of the chirping birds. She could feel her
tongue in her mouth and knew she had made it back to the world of hard
matter.

Just when she thought that she had succeeded in fighting her way out of
that terrible vertigo swoon, the deadly image popped into her brain.

It was like it had been waiting for her all along to drop her guard so
it could attack her unsuspecting brain.

The image of Lightning’s foot-long bloated cock that had appeared to
her in the dream burst into her head.

She could hear the blare of the sound of an army of trumpets that
accompanied the picture every time it succeeded in making its way to
the surface of consciousness.

Her body tingled in fear. Her strength sapped out of her like a tree
that was cut in half from the relentless goring of the lumberjack’s
saw.

Her bones felt like they were made of rubber. She felt guilt at being
so fucked up she couldn’t tell her dreams from reality.

With her knees tucked under her chin and her hands cupping her sobbing
face, Melanie Barker cried like a saint who was suffering for an
unnamed sin. Melanie was dying. And what hurt worst of all was that she
did not know what was killing her.

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