THE PONY WIVES – Chapter 1
"Get ’em cornered, Jock! Shove the meat to ‘er!" It was a barely audible whisper inside
the barn, where, just inside the south door, Ron Lansing sat on a bale of hay. His gray
eyes were focused intently on the activity in the corral, and the fingers of both hands
were crossed to invoke the gods of luck.
Hooves tattooed the hardpan of the corral area, raising small puffs of dust that settled
quickly to earth. The stud had tried to corner the filly but, as with his earlier attempts,
had misjudged her agility and intuition. She was now in the center of the corral and the
stud was in the corner.
Ron had to admire the physical perfection of the toy-like creatures as they snorted and
cavorted in the early afternoon sun. They were less than half as high as the cowponies
they resembled in miniature. No one had described them more aptly than his wife
when, almost four years earlier, she had tried to paint a visual word-image of their
budding business to a couple hosting them at dinner.
"No, they’re not just little ponies, like Shetlands," she had said, her blue eyes sparkling
with enthusiasm. "They’re little big horses."
"I’m not sure we understand, Annette," their host had replied.
"Shetlands are not built like horses," Annette had explained. "That’s why they’re called
Shetland ponies. But ours are a very recently developed miniature, and their structure is
almost exactly the same as big horses… like they ride in Westerns… you know!"
The very next day, Ron had erected a sign on the archway that stood at the bottom of
their lane. With twigs and branches, he had formed the letters that spelled LITTLE BIG
HORSE RANCH. And now the name was officially registered as legal designation for
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their business.
Watching the feisty maneuvers of their first stud, Little Big Jock, and the coquettish
evasions of Little Girl, the first filly born on their ranch, Ron could not help but feel the
excitement of hope and the tension of his long, patient wait for this moment.
Yet there was another element of excitement to the scene, for he could hardly justify the
rigidity of the cock that swelled his jeans by telling himself it was due to the promise of
financial success he was anticipating.
He had to admit that there was something sexually stimulating in the show he was
watching. The little filly’s tail was lifted much of the time, revealing the vaginal ooze
that proved her readiness for the stud. And Little Big Jock was exhibiting the large piece
of equipment that had earned him his name.
The red, swollen moistness of his cock hung from his slate-colored sheath, swinging
and pulsing as he trotted and side-stepped in his attempt to corner the filly. When he
succeeded, it surprised him almost as much as the watching Ron, for the light-footed
Little Girl could have evaded the final maneuver as easily as she had all of his other
rushing advances.
But she simply stopped, her tail held high, letting the stud take a final sniff of her
female juices before he mounted her. And as the throbbing head of the huge prick
snuggled into the flared, swollen cuntlips of the filly, then buried itself in her depths,
Ron groaned quietly to himself and clutched at the hardness which bulged his Levi’s.
"Oh, Ron!" Annette’s hoarse whisper startled him, for he had not heard her enter the
barn’s north door. "I can almost feel that big cock… as if it were pushing into me…
God, but I’m hot!"
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He took his eyes away from the little horses to look around at her. She was wearing a
simple print frock, her standard uniform for doing housework, but its skirt was
bunched up in the tight nook of her crotch, where her hand was pressed snugly to ease
the itching desire she felt.
Ron gave a little animal sound as his hands reached out and pulled her toward him. His
fingers grasped her thighs just above the knees, slid upward swiftly, then tilted outward
at the wrists as he lifted aside the material which had bunched and gathered on the
rapid ascent.
Her shiny brown cunt feathers were uncovered, as he knew they would be. Annette
seldom wore panties while doing summer housework. He dropped his right elbow and
slapped the inside of her left thigh with it. She needed no further cue to tell her what
he wanted. She put her left foot up on the bale of hay, making the brown curls part to
reveal the heated moistness of her very swollen cunt.
Ron leaned into her crotch and she tilted her pelvis outward and upward to him as he
inhaled the sweet female fragrance of her juices and the light scent she used. Then he
licked into the widened slit, tasting her excitement and feeling her flesh rise to his
loving tongue.
He probed into her inner entrance, then nibbled at the love-thickened lips, making her
whimper and moan with delight. She was so overly ready because of the visual stimulus
of the equine genitals in action, that she came almost the moment he began to suck on
her throbbing clitoris.
His hands had seized her by the cheeks of her ass, and her reflexive bucking and
jerking did not keep him from nailing her tiny bud up to the last of her wild
movements. Then he released her as she started to sob from the intense sensation of his
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continued attack. She sank to the straw and hay-littered floor, her knees still widely
separated, thigh-high above her vulnerable crotch.
Ron pulled off his boots, peeled his jeans off his legs, and fished his rock-hard cock out
of the front of his shorts, too impatient to wait longer. He was on her and into her as
quickly as the stud in the corral had nailed the filly, once the movement began.
"Ron!" she cried excitedly. "Oh, ye-s-s! Bury it… as deep as you can… fuck me hard,
darling!" Her legs wrapped around him as he thrust into her heatedly, feeling his own
stimulated libido destroying his usually long-lasting control.
He stroked within the warm, moist claspings of her convulsing sheath as rapidly as he
could, gleaning his voluptuous enjoyment desperately as he felt the imminence of its
conclusion. Then he was boring into her depths frantically, trying to find her innermost
vulnerability with his knob before it began to pulse its last.
Annette cried out as she started to come again, and the spasms of his release intensified
her own climax as he gushed his offering into her cunt in explosive jets until he was
limp and drained.
They had become too deeply involved in their own passions to be aware of the activity
in the corral. Now they could hear the heaving gasps of the little toy filly, and her soft
after-service whinnies. Occasionally the stud would loose a panting snort that ended in
a louder whinny.
The Lansings got up and peered over the top of the hay bale. Little Big Jock was leaning
against the south fence of the corral, head in the shade and rump in the sunlight. Little
Girl was by the west fence, entirely in the shade of the nearby granary. She was fanning
her tail as if trying to cool off the heat which had led to her violation. Both animals
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were frothy around the mouth and their nostrils were dilated with their heavy
breathing.
"And I thought you were a pretty steamy package when you tried to come unfucked!"
Ron said, grinning at his wife. "Little Girl looks like she’s still simmering."
"Jock didn’t eat her pussy so beautifully, the way you did mine," Annette replied.
"That’s why it takes her so long to get cooled down."
"Let’s be thankful for that!" Ron countered. "What if she turned out to be like Lila?"
He was referring to an intense blonde they had met at a swapping session. Lila could
come only when she was being eaten, and played no sexual games other than sixty-
nine. "We’re in business to breed horses, not entertain them!"
"I suppose you’re right, Ron," she conceded. "But I’m glad the little darlings enjoy it,
too. I hated those artificial inseminations all those months before we bought Jock. The
poor fillies didn’t get the fun of fucking, but still had the bother of pregnancy and
birthing."
"You’re right, too, Anne," he admitted. "We’re both sensitive people… too empathetic
for the good of our business. But now that we do have our own stud, it looks as though
everyone is going to have fun. I’ve never had any nookie in the barn before today!"
"Ron, I’m almost ashamed of how hot I got… just seeing that piece of horsemeat
sticking out of Jock’s belly, and the slippery mess of Girl’s pussy, all swollen and
excited… waiting to be screwed!"
"It got to me, too," Ron confessed. "If you hadn’t showed up, I might have flogged
myself off by hand."
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"Don’t you waste a drop of that protein on the barn floor!" she warned him. "I’ve got
three other places for you to put it."
"Then maybe we ought to bring out a blanket and spread it on the floor, next time we
schedule Jock for a service."
"I’m all for that!" Annette told him, rubbing her asscheeks and thighs graphically.
"Those tougher straws can be brutal!"
"That reminds me," Ron said, standing up and getting his pants hitched up and
fastened in place. "I’m all out of stalls, so I’d better get busy with my cleaning. I want to
get fresh straw in at least half of them before feeding time."
"I’ll join you as soon as I clean up," she said, getting to her feet and running into the
bathroom they had installed just inside the north door, next to the tack room.
Ron grabbed a fork from the rack on the end of the first center stall, then began his
cleaning.
Annette showed up just as he was finishing, carrying a straw fork she had picked out of
the rack on her way. She handed Ron a freshly lit cigarette.
"Take a break, wrangler," she said, grinning as she saw the sweat he had worked up on
his brow and neck. She went outside and began carrying in forkfuls of loose straw,
tossing one into each stall. By the time Ron had finished his smoke, she was almost
through with her swift trips.
He went into the bathroom, dropped his cigarette butt into the toilet, took a piss, and
rejoined Annette. They worked their way along the stalls, scattering and smoothing the
straw in each.
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Only nine of the sixteen stalls bore the nameplates of their occupants. The others were
used as spares when it was not convenient to take time out for stable cleaning. Little Big
Jock’s stall was in the extreme northeast corner, separated widely from the fillies and
pregnant mares that normally occupied the first six stalls at the western end.
"What are we going to do about Snapfire?" Annette asked as she finished the stall
bearing that name. "I hate to sell her, but if the vet’s positive now that she’ll always be
barren…"
"We’ll find an answer," Ron said from the stall across the aisle. He came out, glanced at
the nameplate briefly, and grinned. "Wonder if little Girl’s the sort to fuck and tell. If
she spills the story of today’s adventure, Snapfire’s liable to climb the wall."
"That’s really what I meant, Ron… why I hate to sell her. She loves being screwed, and
if someone bought her for a pet, she’d never have a piece again, as long as she lived. I
can’t bear to think of her going through that."
"Even if we kept her," Ron rationalized, "I can’t see the logic in tiring out the stud on
her, especially after we have a full complement of brood mares to handle. We can’t risk
Jock’s getting a strain from too many services… not after mortgaging the damn
homestead to buy him! I can sympathize with Snapfire, but…"
"Ron?" Annette’s voice had a curiously thoughtful tone. He turned to face her from the
stall marked THUMBELINA. She was in the opposite stall, labeled MA PETITE.
"Maybe… just maybe, mind you… I’ve got an idea that might work out for all three of
us… no, all four of us!"
Ron pretended to look all around him, then stared at her with one eyebrow arched
suspiciously. He cocked his head to one side and appraised her figure.
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"Since I see no one else in sight, I’m forced to ask why you think you might be carrying
twins, especially since I know you’ve never missed taking your pill."
"I’m talking about Snapfire… and Capscrew, too!" she replied with flashing eyes. "Don’t
forget, he likes his fucking, too. And you said yourself he’d never make a good stud
because of having only one testicle."
"So what’s this idea that’s got you all steamed up?" he wanted to know. He was curious,
but he wanted to finish work and get to the house, so he continued scattering straw as
he waited for her answer.
"Remember the swap session at the Lamberts’ place in Riverside? The people who had
the dogs?"
"Who could forget it?" Ron said. They had watched a specially trained dog lick the
hostess till she came, then were amazed to see it mount her and fuck her until she
reached her second orgasm. Their host had then brought out a big bitch and let it suck
him off for a while before he mounted the beast and penetrated it, fucking it until he
came joyfully.
"Well, you’ve also seen those films where the burro screws that girl… so… why not raise
trained toy fucking horses, like the Lamberts said some kennel owners do with dogs?"
Ron had finished Ballerina’s stall as Annette wound up in the one labeled POWDER
PUFF. Her final words hit him as they were starting down the aisle to do the three
stalls at the east end, after which they could either quit, or complete the spare stalls in
the middle area.
"Raise… toy… fucking horses?" he repeated, stopping to stand in the aisle and stare at
her stupidly.
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"Well, what’s so weird about that?" she asked. "I’ve noticed that these little characters of
ours have equipment closer to human size than the burro in that movie."
"I don’t know," Ron said, as if the full impact of the idea had just struck him. "I’m not
sure if it’s possible… if they could be trained that well. They’re not dogs, you know,
Anne. Just because they’re small, you can’t expect them to accept the same kind of
training as… as… Saint Bernards, or something."
"But it’s an idea that could work, maybe… isn’t it?" she insisted. "If you could train
Snapfire and Capscrew, for instance, they’d get a hell of a lot of the kind of action they
seem to like, and I’ll bet people… the right people… would pay plenty for them, too.
You heard how much those dogs can be sold for!"
"There’s a slight difference, Anne. The basic price of the untrained dog can be quite
low. But with the investment we have in these toy horses… holy mackerel! Their trained
price would make them unattainable, except for millionaires. How many contacts do
you have in that financial category?"
"You only need one… who knows others," Annette told him. "And Paula Jacobs – Bibi’s
sister-in-law – would be just the sort of gal who’d have to have the first one in her end
of the country. After the first sale… well, word of mouth, you know!"
Ron’s eyes were now flashing with a spark of enthusiasm, just as Annette’s had earlier.
For he was becoming aware of something that had lain dormant in his subconscious for
a long time. During the months he had worked with these weird little doll-horses, they
had proven surprisingly tractable.
He had not taken time to teach them tricks, but he had found that they learned simple
commands readily, and seemed to follow all the routines he prescribed for them without
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balking, other than Jock’s occasional burst of high spirits-understandable in such a
feisty little stallion.
Just maybe… there could be the nucleus of a great subsidiary enterprise in Annette’s
idea. It would take a lot of experimentation and that meant extra hours of work.
Annette would have to help, and…
"Do you know what you’d be in for, if we tried to train them like that?" he asked,
watching her face.
"I… you mean… I’d have to…" She was actually reddening a little under her early
summer tan. i
"Yes, you’d have to… or do you think we can afford to hire special talent? How would
the ad read? ‘Girl wanted; live in; to train toy horses; must have flexible vagina and
sense of humor.’ Those hooves could be brutal, you know!"
"I’d thought about that," Annette replied. "I’ll start making some little hoof-mittens
tomorrow!" She was still flushed, but Ron thought it was from something other than
embarrassment.
"Anne?" he said, studying her closely. "Are you getting hot to try Capscrew’s
equipment?"
"Let’s say that I’m always eager to discover new sexual horizons. You knew that already,
though. But then, I’m sorry for poor Capscrew. It’s been so long since he had any
nookie!"
"Somehow, I get the feeling, you lusty wench, that you’re less altruistic on Capscrew’s
behalf than you are hot to try a novel type of fucking!"
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"Perhaps you’re right," Annette conceded, but she was grinning at him mischievously.
"And I suppose you aren’t sporting that fresh hard-on because of your own
anticipations concerning Snapfire?"
Ron reached down to his crotch and discovered that she had won a genuine point. He
had to grin back at her as his own face began to show a little reddish tone.
"Come on," he said, moving toward the end stalls. "The sooner we quit horsing around
and get our work done, the sooner we can go in the house, build us a drink, and… start
horsing around!"
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