THE PONY WIVES – Chapter 2
Beatrice Jacobs was sitting at her dressing table, brushing out the glossy treasure of her
long, black hair, when her husband came out of his bathroom, saw that he had
forgotten to bring any cigarettes upstairs, and went into her bedroom to borrow some.
He walked through the open doorway without knocking on the frame as he usually did,
then halted just inside, staring at the loveliness of her. He had never really gotten used
to the idea that she was his; all that exciting beauty!
As her hands reached the end of her strokes with the brush, head leaned to one side,
her baby-doll nightie was lifted high, and her golden asscheeks shone like satin in the
light from the three lamps in her room.
He could see in her mirror the reflected glory of her perfect tits, completely revealed in
the unfastened opening of the gauzy garment. God! It had been over a week since he
had fondled those magnificent tits!
His breathing almost stopped when she dropped her brush; leaning over to retrieve it,
she flashed the pinkness of her darkly furred slit into the revealing mirror. Its debut was
brief, but as she regained her position, her tits bounced enticingly, the dark nipples
jiggling and swinging at the peaks.
It was a stimulating display, even for a man who got all the sex he wanted. To a man
who got a lot less than he felt he needed, it was almost maddening. But he remained
silent and unmoving as she tied a red ribbon around the inky softness of her tresses.
" ‘Bess, the landlord’s daughter, plaiting a dark-red love knot into her long black hair.’ "
He quoted smoothly and with almost a reverent tone. She stared at him from the
mirror for a second before she spoke.
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"Who said this was a love knot?" He could not be sure if the overtones were indicative
of playfulness, annoyance, or indifference.
"Can’t blame a guy for hoping, can you?" he countered, hating himself as he always did
on these occasions, wishing he dared to overpower her, fuck hell out of her, and stalk
out of her damn room without a word. She could make a guy feel like a beggar in his
own home.
"Stick around," she said casually. "I’ll see what time it is after I’m all creamed and ready
for bed." She started to smear things on her face, neck and arms. He walked over to a
console on the side wall, got a cigarette from her case, and lit it with her ornate lighter.
He dared not say anything, so stood quietly as she continued her nightly toilette.
You haven’t creamed for so long, you’ve forgotten how! What the hell gives with you,
Bibi? Everyone you meet thinks you’re an oversexed female… God knows, you look it,
and talk a good fuck. Why do you act like a nympho in the living room and a coolly
dutiful wife in the bedroom? God! What I wouldn’t give to build a real fire in that
sweet cunt of yours!
She always seemed to freeze up just as they would begin to get excited from the
foreplay. After that point, it was as if she suffered him to jack off with her cunt clasped
around him, and more than once he wondered why he bothered to keep trying.
But he knew why he never ceased to pursue her; why he hungered for her all the time,
even when he had found release with someone else during the day. He was too much in
love with her not to want her, to have all he could have of her. And he’d keep trying for
as long as he could stand the strain.
She was finished all of a sudden, and as she left her dressing table for her bed, throwing
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back the covers with a graceful motion, she gave him an arch look that he knew was
more acting than feeling.
"Well, Franklin?" She waited, a model of patience as he put out the stub of his cigarette
and moved toward the bed.
That’s another thing: Even in bed, she calls me Franklin! Only when we’re with friends
who call me Jake, will she use the nickname most people use after they’ve known me
for an hour. If she’d really unbend with me, damn it…!
He forced all of his bitterness and disappointments aside as he crawled in beside her.
His hands sought the warm bulk of her body, caressed her hip lovingly, pulled her to
him as his lips hunted for hers, hungry for the warmth of communication between
them.
She kissed him with all the ardor of the nymphomaniac she often pretended to be. She
always did. She could give his friends a hard-on just kissing them goodnight after an
evening out together. But it ended at the neck. If her cunt would get as eager and juicily
active as her mouth, he’d chain her to the bed and retire from his job the next day.
He came up for air, then began kissing the mounds of her tits. When he got a nipple in
his lips, it had a sticky greasiness that clung, and a flavor like rancid leather.
"Don’t, Franklin!" she whispered. "You’ll wash off the nipple ointment!"
Jesus Christ! Nipple ointment! I hope to hell she hasn’t anointed her pussy; I’m going
to try eating her again.
He kissed downward over the satin warmth of her belly, into her glossy black cunt
curls, felt her wince and tighten her thigh muscles as she always had when he
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approached her pussy with his mouth.
She let him kiss the softness of her mounded hair, even lick into the tightness of her
pressed-together cuntlips. But as he began to probe inward with his tongue, becoming
more excited and hungry for her as he inhaled the delicate fragrance of her, she rolled
her thighs snugly against his face, forcing him away from his feast.
"Franklin, don’t! You know that makes me nervous. Come on back up here where you
belong; just play with your fingers if you have to explore me… after the years we’ve
been together."
He should have known better. From the first time he had gone after her compelling
cunt with his mouth, she had protested in one manner or another. She was "too terribly
sensitive" for such contacts; she felt "like a Lesbian" when he used his mouth on her;
she thought she might have a slight vaginal discharge and it embarrassed her for him to
be near it… almost made her sick to think about; she wished he wouldn’t behave like an
adolescent who had never seen a pussy at close range; she wanted him to "quit fawning
around that thing and stick his penis in it, like a man!"
It was the height of frustration for him. Not only because he was filled with sincere
desire to kiss and lick and nibble that most deliciously private femaleness of her, but he
felt it might unlock her inhibitions, also.
Jake sensed that one potent orgasm brought on by attacking her button with his mouth,
if he could manage it, would remove the final barrier that stood between them and their
marital happiness. It was an almost unassailable barrier, the way he saw it.
Beatrice Armitage had overwhelmed him from the first moment he met her. She was
one of the most "emancipated" females he had ever encountered – as far as her frank
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conversation and lack of false modesty in clothing were concerned. She would never let
him go all the way with her before they were married, but she held such great promise
of untold sexual delights that he was willing to wait.
After all, a gal that calmly discussed anything and everything sexual-in literature,
foreign films, even the experiences of her confidantes – certainly should be so
enlightened and uninhibited that she would be a veritable mink in bed!
What a blow had fallen on their wedding night! Before they turned down the covers on
their hotel bed, she had made him sit down and listen to the ground rules she believed
necessary for a smooth sexual union between them.
She knew from his courting of her that he was more romantic than animalistic, so she
need not tell him they must keep their lovemaking on a romantic level, which was a
prime requisite to her. But she thought that, because of what she had heard and read of
the experiences of others, they should discuss their hang-ups and personal taboos ahead
of time, to avoid unhappy disappointments.
Now, for one thing, she did not like the promiscuous feeling of daytime contacts. Love-
making properly should be relegated to the nighttime privacy of the marital bed. And,
above all, never would there be any sexual contact – not even tender, romantic caresses
– after either of them had been drinking.
She had other ideas; all just as whimsical, seemingly, and most of them inconsequential
compared to the major restrictions. What really hurt Jake was the discovery that her
definition of "daytime contacts" precluded his copping a playful feel of her tits or ass at
any time but night and anywhere but in bed!
The capper had been her very firm insistence upon his "never, never forcing or
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coercing" her into an activity over her initial veto. If he did, she would feel that she
could never trust him again, and would have to leave him!
If he had not been so desperately in love with her, had not felt the game worth the
candle, he would have tried force with her on many occasions. But he preferred keeping
her on her own terms, no matter how miserable, rather than taking a chance of losing
her.
He had crawled back up into his original position, his head on his pillow and his hip
touching hers, but his hands lay on his belly, instead of reaching for her as before. It
took him several seconds to recover from the angry reaction to her rebuke. She was
silent; her patience at such times was the only price she had to pay for having her sex
life exactly as she wanted it.
When she began to feel slightly impatient, thinking of her early morning appointment
to have her hair done, she used her feminine wiles to speed up his recovery. First, she
moved her body ever so gently – just enough to taunt him with the thrill of moving
contact. Then she moistened her lips carefully, making delicately wet sounds to intrigue
him.
When he began to stir, as if his interest might be returning to her, she rolled over on
her side to face him. Her hip frictioned against his, then her ointment-moist nipple
jiggled against the skin of his upper arm as her tit bounced from the movement.
Jake groaned, turned to meet her, and took her in his arms. His mouth sought hers
again and they kissed excitedly while his fingers slid down to play in the snug moistness
of her barely parted slit. She let the fun continue only until she thought she was excited
enough to insure good lubrication. Then she pushed him back from her, parted her
thighs, and let him have one happy second of feeling her readiness with his excited
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fingers.
"Come on, Franklin," she whispered. "Take me now."
Her words did not serve to stimulate him, for they were uttered without any indication
of desire. She might have been urging him to carry out the trash. But the feel of her
exciting body next to his, and the sensation of her steamy cunt-flesh on his finger, had
enough stimulation to move him into action.
He got between her thighs and she lifted them to admit him. His cock was sticking out
of the fly of his pajamas, hard and throbbing, and he shoved its rubbery head into the
fleshy petals he had fingered so briefly.
"Oh, Bibi!" he said hoarsely, easing into her snugness slowly to prolong the joy. "It
feels so good to be inside you!" He pushed in all the way, and she gasped softly as he
filled her completely. When he began stroking within her, she moved her ass almost
imperceptibly, as if subconsciously responding to him but unwilling to let herself go.
He became caught up in the exciting sensation of plowing into her sheath and
withdrawing it, feeling her walls clasping him all the way. His moments inside her were
so limited that he always did his utmost to make each excursion last as long as possible,
fighting to keep his control up to the last split-second.
But always, because these moments were so few and the thrill of plunging into her was
so exciting to him, the sheer pleasure of it increased the intensity of his passion, and he
never could last as long with her as with any of the several females who gave him
release at other times.
At least it felt as if she might reach a climax tonight; her average was about fifty
percent, since she limited his foreplay so drastically that he could not stir her enough
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before starting to fuck her. Yes, that quivering deep inside her tunnel was the sure
signal!
"Kiss me!" she squealed as her body tensed beneath him. He tried to hold back his own
finish as his mouth met hers, but when her tongue slid past his lips and writhed against
his tongue in darting excitement, he burst his load into her powerfully, feeling his come
boiling around inside her as her convulsions contracted her sheath against his cock.
Wanting to stay inside her as long as he could, he wiggled his ass and bored into her
lustfully, reveling in the quivering warmth of her cunt. Even after he was drained, he
forced his muscles to spasm, swelling and pulsing his knob against her walls, wanting
to make her aware of his presence there, to prolong the reminder that it had been he
who gave her that trembling orgasm.
She broke their kiss even before her convulsions were over, and he knew from
experience that she was ready to break their connection. He sighed and pulled out of
the slippery nest.
"Thank you, Franklin, darling," she said, covering he cunt with her hand as she swung
her legs out of the bed and started for her bathroom. "And goodnight. See you in the
morning."
He stayed on his knees in the bed until she closed herself up in her bathroom. Then he
retired to his own bath, carrying his wet, limp cock in his hand as if it were a wounded
bird he had found.
Bibi prepared her douche with trembling hands, and her knees were shaking just as
uncontrollably until she sat on the toilet and shoved the tube inside her. The pressured
flow of the scented water relaxed her, stopping the tiny tremors of her aftermath.
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Oh God! Why can’t I have sex without being so uptight? It’s damn near killing me
inside… like wanting to sneeze and being afraid to let go! And I know it’s spoiling half
the fun for Jake. Damn it! Why can’t I be like Mother? No… I wouldn’t want to be
that… wanton… but why don’t I have a little of her… abandon?
She could see in her memory, almost as clear as if it were a recent event, the sight she
had witnessed the day she came home at noon from her third grade classes, nursing a
toothache. The school nurse dropped her off at her house and she entered quietly,
knowing that her father often came home at noontime for a quick nap before lunch.
When she tiptoed quietly past her parents’ bedroom door, headed for her own room,
the door had been ajar. The sounds she heard made her stop and look back. Her father
was completely undressed, and he was kneeling on the bed sideways, revealing the
enormous, stiff thing he peed through.
Her mother was lying diagonally on the bed, her legs drawn up in the air, showing her
hairy crotch. Then her father kissed the fuzzy slit and Bibi had to cover her mouth with
her hand to keep from gasping aloud and betraying her presence in the hall.
She watched as her father’s tongue licked in the slit and made it swell open. Then he
put his whole mouth over the spot and her mother whimpered and gasped as if she
were being tickled. When her ass jerked wildly on the bed and her mother cried out in
an odd, happy voice, her father stopped licking, crawled up closer into the vee of her
mother’s legs, and stuck his thing into her until it disappeared.
Bibi watched her father’s hairy ass drive in and out for a long time, while her mother’s
voice kept begging for him to do things to her. Bibi learned later what some of the
words meant. At that shocking moment, all she knew was that her parents were
"making another baby" in secret. They had not even told her they wanted another
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child. But she had learned from one of her playmates that this was how babies were
made.
Bibi had fled the frightening, disillusioning scene and hid in her room, trying not to
wet her panties while she waited for the courage to sneak back down the hall. She
managed to get downstairs undetected, then slammed the front door as if she were just
entering the house.
Her parents had seemed to change in her eyes after that. But she really learned the
depth of her mother’s lust four years later, vacationing at the lakes. Bibi and two girls
from neighboring cabins had gone around to the end of the lake where wildflowers
grew in profusion, to gather centerpiece blossoms for their tables. When one girl got
into some poison ivy, they cut the trip short so the victim could hurry home.
Bibi had reached the Armitage cabin to see fresh, wet footprints on the sunny rear
porch and knew her parents had just come from a swim in the lake. When she entered
the cabin, she could hear her mother gasping between excitedly gushed words that
came from the bedroom with startling clarity. Bibi knew all the words, by this time, but
it was a shock to hear her mother use them.
"… can’t wait to get this… damn suit off! Pull at the crotch, honey… can’t you get your
cock in past the material? You got your fingers… in there easy enough… in the lake…
and I can’t wait to be fucked!"
"My cock’s a little bigger than my fingers," Bibi heard her father reply. "Why do you
have to wear such tight suits?"
"Tear it, then!" Her mother’s voice was desperate, as if the garment were on fire and
burning her. "My cunt’s itching to have you…" There was a ripping sound, then a sigh.
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"Yes! Oh, what a delicious feeling! Fuck me, darling! Get it in up to the balls!"
Bibi had sneaked quietly outside, easing the door shut noiselessly, then stood on the
porch and viewed the seemingly more sane activities around her; the boats on the lake,
the barbecues in use, the occasional comings and goings of cars.
She had made herself a promise on the spot, stimulated by the sense of shame and
shock she felt because of her parents’ unwitting display.
If I ever get married, there’ll be no such goings-on in the daytime! It’s absolutely
disgraceful! If that kind of thing has to happen, it belongs in a dark bedroom at night,
not in broad daylight, while people are supposed to be doing normal things!
As she finished rinsing and drying her douche bag and putting it away, Bibi felt a
resentment rising up inside her. She knew that her parents had always been happy
together, enjoyed being alone together. They had not needed her to be happy. She had
been bored many times in her childhood, but she had never seen them bored.
She had wondered for years if perhaps she had something wrong with her; some quality
lacking in her makeup, as if she had been created incomplete. Now she thought it more
likely that she had been given an unwanted extra; a built-in restraint that spoiled her
capacity for enjoyment. Especially sexual enjoyment.
I can talk about sex… kick around the terminology and the psychology of it with the
best of them. I’ve been doing that ever since… I don’t know… since it started to be
fashionable to talk about it, I guess. But why can’t I live it? Why did I limit Jake the
way I did when we were first married? Now I can’t change… it’s like a role I’ve played
so long that I don’t dare try out new lines or I’ll throw the other actors off…
She came out of the bedroom and got into bed, but she knew she would not sleep right
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away. There was the freshly remembered warmth of Jake’s body against hers, inside of
hers, bursting within her. And there was the knowledge of her own failure as a wife,
her self-imposed restrictions that had grown into her like guy-wires buried in the bark
and wood of a tree.
Oh, God! I can say anything in an "intellectual" discussion. It’s considered sophisticated
these days. Why can’t I even use a four-letter word in Jake’s presence? Hell, I can’t even
call him Jake! As if I dared not to be too informal with him or he might take advantage
of me. My God, Bibi… he’s your husband!
Something cracked inside her gut and she began to sob softly. The sobbing made the
hurt worse, but it also relaxed her. After a few minutes, the sobbing eased into the deep
breathing of sleep.
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