Stud horse

CHAPTER ONE

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 sweet sixteen 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.