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The Pony Lover
Copyright © 2016 Dog Murphy
Darque Taboo Press
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All Rights Reserved: No part of this publication may be reproduced or retransmitted, electronic or mechanical, without the written permission of the publisher; with the exception of brief quotes used in connection with reviews written for inclusion in a magazine or newspaper.
Disclaimer: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic, adult language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable which might include: multiple sexual practices, heavy and strong BDSM themes and elements, erotic elements and fetish play. This e-book is for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please do not try any new sexual practice, especially those that might be found in our BDSM/Fetish titles without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. Neither the publisher nor its authors will be responsible for any loss, harm, injury, or death resulting from use of the information contained in any of its titles. All characters depicted at least eighteen years of age or older.
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, businesses, and incidents are from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual places, people, or events is purely coincidental. Any trademarks mentioned herein are not authorized by the trademark owners and do not in any way mean the work is sponsored or associated with the trademark owners. Any trademarks used are specifically in a descriptive capacity.
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 eighteen, a mere child, her breasts had been big as a matron's; now that she was eighteen, 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!