Adult Image Library 1/Adult_Image_Library_Volume_1.iso/stories/arabnigh.txt

Text File | 1996-04-15 | 30.6 KB | 588 lines

                       "This time I believe,
                        And I let go...
                        ...'Cos I love to be loved"
                                                  Peter Gabriel


Even after three weeks the heat of the city bothered me.  Marcus, who
ran the Middle Eastern end of The Company, told me that it was much more
pleasant out in the desert, drier and less humid.  That part of my
upcoming trip I was looking forward to;  spending a weekend in the
desert in the traditional nomadic tent of the person The Company was
trying to impress (and as a consequence sell several million dollars
worth of executive jet aircraft to) was not my idea of how to spend a
marvellous time.  I kept having visions of dining on "...ripped out
sheep's eyes..." my fault for listening to all those Souxie and the
Banshees records as a student I suppose.

Still, my host, Sheikh Mohammed Hassan Al Bakir, seemed a pleasant
enough fellow.  I'd first met him at the airfield.  I was piloting our
flying sales demo model when he'd come forward and asked to take the
controls.  For someone who wasn't type rated on executive twins he flew
very well, only later I found out that he'd flown fighters for his
country's airforce;  indeed it was rumoured that he'd flown during that
little contretemps over in Kuwait a couple of years back.  Anyway we'd
got to talking, I took him through a full power stall and recovery and
after we landed he invited me to stay for the weekend.

The Company, needless to say, was utterly delighted that we got along so
well.  The day before I was due to go I was summoned to Marcus' office,
for a little pep talk on sales procedure I assumed and so I'd got my
macho "I'm a pilot not a salesman." speech all prepared; hell I even
wore my Ray-Ban's in a vain attempt to look like something out of "Top
Gun".  The speech wasn't quite what I'd expected.

"I had a message from the head of personnel this morning about an hour
after I'd told Head Office that you would be spending the weekend with
the Sheikh." Marcus McBride looked a little uncomfortable behind his
desk and he looked at me strangely.  "This was after I received a phone
call from His Excellency's aide asking if you were able to ride horses
and as I couldn't get in touch with you I asked personnel if they know."

"Ah..." I murmured, I had an inkling as to what was coming next.

"I got this back on the email net, complete with encryption about thirty
minutes ago, would you care to explain?"

He handed me a sheet of paper that I read out loud, first checking that
his door was closed.  "Confirmed that Peter is able to ride, in fact
personnel tell me he holds a British Horse Society Assistant Instructors
certificate.  However please press upon Peter the importance of this
initial order and tell him to keep his hands off the ponies!  Signed, oh
look, by the MD herself."

I handed it back to Marcus with a smile whereupon he dropped it into a
shredder by the side of his desk.  "Keep your hands off the ponies?"

"Tell the MD that I'll be the very soul of discretion."

"How about telling me - and where did you find time to gain a riding
instructor's qualification."

"Well my SO runs a stable and I just picked it up as I went along.  As
to the rest, you're a Presbyterian aren't you?"

"Aye," Marcus' dropped deeper into his native Glaswegian accent as he
always seemed to do when under stress.

"Then probably it's better if you don't know, just tell the MD I'll be a
good little company man."

Marcus flopped back into his seat and waved me away, "Away with you,
just don't mess this up!"

Of course the company had found out about me and my taste in lovers
quite quickly.  A little private detective work, monitoring the phone
calls I made.  Predictable I suppose as they had a lot of government
contracts and much of their work was secret.  It was a bit of a surprise
to be called into the MD's office and to have her address me by the
handle I used on a couple of bulletin boards.  The upshot of that
conversation was that whereas she didn't mind what I got up to (in fact
she confided that she found the whole idea rather exciting herself,
which did come as a shock)! I had to report any attempts to blackmail me
should be reported to her immediately and they would "deal with it."
As I said these people had extensive government involvement with several
countries and there were dark rumours voiced about what had happened
when people had tried to get secrets from company employees before.
There can't be many zoophiles in the world with assorted secret services
looking after them but I certainly was among their number.  Anyway, I
imagined that this place would be all camels and sheep anyway - a common
misconception of people outside the zoophile community is that we'll
jump anything with four legs which certainly isn't true.  Now many of us
have "played the field" during our lives but I'd certainly no intention
of cuddling up to a nanny goat for the weekend, my tastes were pretty
exclusively equine.  Still, the interest of His Excellency in my riding
ability sounded intriguing.


* * *

So there I am on a Friday evening in the lobby of the Hilton - have you
ever noticed that the lobby of every Hilton anywhere in the world is the
same?  The locals, for whom I have a lot of respect as individuals but
whose religion gives me the willies, have been doing their bowing and
scraping Meccawards to the wails of the chap up the tower and I have
been quietly humming "Rock the Casbah" to myself when the Sultan's aide
comes over to me and asks if I'm ready.

"Sure, shall we go?"

"At once, I have a car ready to take us to the airfield."

I thought that I was in for some more flying work and was about to ask
to retrieve my flight bag when Abdul, or whatever his name was, pipes up
again."

"His Majesty has arranged a military transport for you."

Marvellous, I thought, a flight in a DC3 to God alone knows where in the
desert.

Wrong.

Half an hour later I am walking across the tarmac dressed in a g-suit
which, get this, has my name on the front and a major's pips on the
sleeve, out to a desert camouflaged Tornado-G1.  Suffice it to say that
a very rapid half hour flight took my small pilot and I out to a desert
military strip seemingly miles from anywhere where I am met by aide
number two and taken to a rather nice set of quarters.

"This is our special training base," he explained, "comes in very
useful."  He proceeded to serve tea and then asked what seemed at the
time a rather odd question.

"Tell me sir, have you ever worn Arab dress."

"No," I reply, "I'm afraid I haven't."

"I had better instruct you sir, I'm afraid that His Majesty is very
particular about the clothes worn at his retreat."

This weekend was taking a very peculiar turn I thought as I was helped
by the fussy attendant into the strange clothing.  I actually found that
the traditional Arabic sheet and tea-towel on the head was surprisingly
comfortable and cool although catching a sight of myself in a mirror I
did think that I looked less like Lawrence of Arabia and more like a
pilot on his way to a fancy dress party.  Little did I know that the
weekend was about to take a much more interesting turn.

"If you are ready sir..."

I was and was lead out and across the small compound.

I caught the scent first, carried on a wafting of hot desert wind, heard
a soft snort and sand-muffled hoofstamp.  Ah, the ponies at last!
There's something about the scent of horses that raises a lump in my
throat, and quite often a lump elsewhere.  I should have been ready when
I rounded the corner but I wasn't.

She was exquisite.

Pearly dappled-grey she stood untethered in the shade of a low wall: her
dark doe-like eyes looking with interest at the creatures that came
towards her, a darker grey silken mane spilling down her proudly arched
neck, muscles playing in firm bunches under her sleek, rippling hide.  I
caught her scent of her sweat once more, rich and musky in the desert
air.  I felt the peculiar knot of excitement in the pit of my stomach,
the same tense excitement as I felt for the first time on a balmy
English summers night, creeping across a paddock towards where my lover
lay so many years ago.  The mare before me now pawed the ground and
snorted softly but she did not fret at our approach as we drew closer.

"Oh wow!" I managed to mumble somewhat inanely, words failing me at the
sight of her  perfection.  Daintily the Arabian mare lifted her near
foreleg and pawed the ground, once, twice;  her legs thin but strong,
her mane and hide rippling as the sun on water as she moved.

"She pleases you Sir?" the Sheikh's man enquired politely.

"She's beautiful," I  murmured, captivated by the sleek apparition, "I
can see why your people produced so many poets with such as she to
praise."

"Thank you Sir," he sounded a little shocked at what I'd just said;
looking back on it up until then he'd probably had me down as an
ignorant foreigner, an infidel.  "Her name is Sahraa Ibn Awaasif.  In
English that would be..."

"Desert Storm." I interrupted.  We had reached her now and slowly I held
out my hand to her, palm downwards.  She reached forward and sniffed it
before nuzzling my fingers  with her soft lips.

"You speak Arabic?"

"I picked up a little here and there."  I didn't look at him now, all my
attention lay focused on the gorgeous creature before me.

"She was born on the night that the war started, His excellency thought
it an appropriate name for her."

"So do you live up to your name, Storm of the Desert?" I thought to her.
I was only slightly astonished when she lifted her head from nuzzling my
hand and snorted haughtily.

"His Excellency will meet you on the way to the oasis.  If you follow
the road that leads from here you will come across him.  Please don't
wander from the road though, it's a very big desert."

I turned to shake the aide's hand and thanked him before swinging myself
into the saddle.  I would have liked to familiarise myself more with my
companion before taking the liberty of riding her but I figured that a
military compound was probably not the best place for that sort of
thing.  Fortunately the Arab mare was a forgiving soul who took no
offence at my lack of manners and with a gentle nudge on her flanks she
trotted towards the gate and out onto the desert track.

Once out of sight of the airfield I slowed her to a walk, then a halt
and patted her neck, she in turn bent her neck down and round to nibble
at my foot.  I called her name softly in Arabic and her ears pricked
backwards at the sound of my voice.  "Would you mind if I just called
you Sara?" I asked her out loud.  She didn't seem to object.  I nudged
her onwards and she set off with the sand-shuffling gait of her kind,
seeming to float smoothly across the desert.  Now was the time to trust
her and to make up for my former indignities.

Closing my eyes I dropped her reins and let her guide herself.  Slowly I
began to merge with her, the gentle rocking movement as she slipped
across the hot sands easing my mind downwards and out of the frame of
reference so familiar to every day existence.  With mind and spirit I
reached out for hers and found it, strong and steady below me.
Breathing deeply I called her and she answered, whickering softly, her
spirit rising at my voice, willingly merging with mine as we rode the
shining desert together.  Steadily I let the vision fade and opened my
eyes, my hands spread in benediction to the Goddess.  Sara stopped and
twisted her neck to look at me with her soft eyes.  Quickly I slipped
from her back and hugged her, my hands clasping across her shoulders.
She hugged me back, pulling me close with her head, pressing me to her
chest.

"I think that we'll get along fine." I whispered to her, "Shall we carry
on?"

She let me go and I ran a hand along her silken flank before swinging
myself up to her back.  I suppose that there are those who would call it
magic and imaginary nonsense but I'd found over many years and many
horses that it was more than possible to make contact with horses and
other so-called animals on a very deep level and that from then on, if
they had come to meet you, you would be friends.  Strange I admit but
don't knock it, it works.

As though to prove it then Sara almost read my mind and broke into a
fast trot, eager to be on our way.  "OK then Beautiful," I said, "let's
see how stormy you can be."

Effortlessly she broke into a headlong gallop and I eased into a crouch
over her neck, balancing her on the forehand leaving the powerful
muscles of her hindquarters free to push us forwards.  Despite the
softness of the sand she galloped swiftly, scattering golden grains
beneath her hooves.  Nothing would have given me greater pleasure than
to get rid of her saddle and my unusual clothes and ride her surging
body bareback across the desert, my skin against hers, her warmth
against my nakedness, feeling the pull and play of her strength as she
carried me.  Still I contented myself with her company and the pleasure
of the ride.

I slowed her after a mile or so as I didn't know how far we'd have to
go.  She settled back into a fast walk, snorting the dust from her
nostrils, her chest rising and falling, recovering from the exertion of
her run.  I patted her neck affectionately and she turned and gave a
little "harrrumph" and nibbled my foot again.  We were definitely
hitting it off.  I started to wonder how my host would view my interest
in horses.  Legend is always an unreliable guide when it comes to the
sexual morals of a people but the Arabs were supposed to have a taste
for animal pleasures amongst their other interests and so there was an
inkling of a hope that Sara and I might get the opportunity to get a
little closer over the next two days.  I had to be careful not to mess
up and jeopardise the chances of The Company shifting another multi-
million dollar jet - after all I liked the protection I got from them.

I must confess that I was beginning to get a little worried about being
out in the huge desert with just my new-found friend for company.  She
seemed to be quite content and knew where she was going so I let her
have her head and let her take me, content for her to carry me wherever
she wanted.  We hadn't gone much further when Sara raised her head and
whinnied, her call answered by another neigh.

On top of a sand dune a blue-robed figure sat on another Arabian horse.
He waved at me and dutifully I turned Sara towards him and trotted her
up the dune's slope.

"Ah Peter, Salaam Walikem. I'm so glad you could come."

"Walikem Salaam, Your Excellency." I answered, recognising the Sheikh
and the traditional greeting as we drew level.

"Oh please, Hassan will suffice.  The desert will have nothing to do
with formality.  Here all creatures are equal in Her eyes."

I caught sight of his gaze and for a second I thought I saw the flicker
of a familiar fire.  Perhaps the desert makes philosophers of all men.

"Come, let us ride."

He lead the way over another dune and the ground underfoot became more
rocky, before us lay a small oasis, really just a smallish, shallow pool
of water rather than the grand palm tree fringed edifice I'd always
imagined from boyhood tales of The Arabian Knights.  Beside it a small
herd of goats milled about and a cluster of tents fluttered in the hot
breeze.  Well I'd been right about the goats.

Hassan proved the perfect host.  His two elderly servants took our
horses (but not before I'd made sure that Sara had got a good pat and a
whispered word of thanks) served us sweet coffee and the Sheikh and I
chatted about flying and other small talk.

Later after we had eaten (and yes, it was goat on the menu!) we sat in
the open awning of his tent in front of a fire lit to ward of the night
chill of the desert;  the conversation turned to horses.  Hassan seemed
interested in my little herd at home, my miniature mare in particular.
As the night drew on I began to suspect that his questions were getting
a little close to the mark and my sixth sense that can usually spot a
"fellow traveller" at a hundred paces started to quiver.

"Tell me," he said at last, "what do you think of 'Ibn Awaasif?"

"She's quite something.  I like her very much." I answered coyly.

"You rode her well, almost as though you were meant for each other."

"Well I did sense that she liked me from when we met, we just took to
each other.  I must say she's very well behaved.  She understands people
very well."

"Ah, I raised her myself, here in the desert.  She is the daughter of my
mare and I take a special care of my children."

There it was!  Whoop, whoop, whoop!  Condition Red!  Bikini state Black!
DefCon 1... One ZooBird in positive track... Confidence is high at this
time.  I say again, Confidence IS high!

"Your children?" I raised an eyebrow.

He smiled back, "Oh yes, she is my child as much as my son who will be
Sheikh after me.  All my horses are special to me, as they are to you."
With that he clapped  his hands and I watched entranced as our two mares
rounded the tent flap and wandered over to where we sat.

"Do not concern yourself, My Friend.  I have friends in your Government
and they are happy to supply me with all kinds of information.  They
know about my tastes as they know about yours."

I smiled, wondering for a moment just how many people knew.  Wondering
stopped however when Sara drew level with me and lowered her head to my
face, snuffling at me.

"Hello beautiful," I whispered and reached up to scratch her nose.  She
harrumphed at me in return and nuzzled my mouth with her own soft lips.
Almost involuntarily I began to nuzzle her back, lapping at her, our
lips and tongues meeting for a moment.  Softly she breathed at me, her
warm horse-breath smoky and rich in my nostrils.  I breathed back so
that she could smell me too, reaching up to caress the firm line of her
jaw, the soft, short hairs slipping under my fingers.

Then the moment was over, she raised her head but looked down on me,
firelight reflected from the depths of her eyes.

"Lover?" I whispered.

She replied with a snort and stepping beside me she lay down on the
richly patterned Bedouin carpet.  I looked over to Hassan.  His mare had
already lain down and he caressed her neck.  With that sixth sense that
tells men when someone is looking at them he turned to look at me.  "She
is yours, My Brother.  She wants you."

I smiled in return, no words were necessary.

Sara lay beside me now, forelegs tucked away neatly, her coat shining in
the glow of firelight.  If I wasn't hard before I most certainly was
now, she was beautiful, exquisite.  Her coat took on the glimmer of
flickering light, shining with its own inner fire.  Her fine head turned
to look at me, long lashed dark eyes beckoning me to her side, to touch
her, to be with her.

I began at the base of her ears, half scratching, half massaging them.
My lover at home always enjoyed this and Sara did too, her neck
stretching out, a soft snort of contentment echoing her pleasure.
Slowly I moved down her neck, stroking and massaging her softly,
whispering to her how beautiful she was and how much I lusted after her.
As though she understood me she turned her head and nuzzled my crotch,
her nose pushing through the folds of the Arabic robes.  She seemed
quite expert at it and I began to realise that this was not the first
time that she had done this.  I continued to caress her, stripping the
folds of cloth from around me at the same time, my hands roaming across
my withers as she pushed aside the folds of my clothing with her nose,
helping me undress.  A warm breath drifted across my cock, she'd found
what she was looking for.  With a soft groan I lay across her back, my
cheek pressed against her warm neck, breathing her warm mare scent in
deeply, bathing in her warmth, her luxuriance.  Sara nuzzled down into
my cock and balls, velvet soft lips pressing against my tender flesh.
With infinite care I felt her lay her tongue upon me, wet and wide as it
lashed across the tip of my straining cock; again she licked, pressing
my manhood against my thigh.  I moaned in pleasure at her gentle touch,
her ears twitching in response to my cries and another wet lick bathed
my cock and balls.  My need for her grew with each touch of her talented
tongue upon me, with each breath of her heady scent.

Slowly I pulled away from her, rubbing my hand down her flanks to her
belly.  She looked up and over a shoulder at me, firelight glimmering in
her ebony eyes, framing her delicate femininity in a radiant halo, an
angel of horsekind, a divine prescience upon the earth.  "My turn to
please you," I whispered at her.  To my surprise she rolled over a
little further, her hind leg coming up into the air.

"Get between her legs," I heard Hassan call me quietly, "she's fond
of... that."  he gasped mid sentence and I peered over Sara's barrel.
My host knelt behind his own mare, her tail raised and held in his hands
as he entered her, making love with long steady strokes.  He obviously
is a man who doesn't like to waste any time, either that or his mare
needed him more urgently than mine did.

Returning to Sara I lay down beside her, wriggling close so that our
bellies touched, hide to flesh, warm and comforting.  Bending my head
down to between her legs I lapped gently at the two little teats that
nestle there, their black skin standing out against her white hair.
Taking them into my mouth I suckled at her, first one, then the other.
Her scent was all around me now, her warmth enveloped me like a womb;
for a moment our souls touched and merged once more and sucked at her
like a colt foal, her foal, returning to the mother who nourished me, to
the mother who gave me life.  In that moment of bliss, our bodies
pressed tight against each other,  I lost myself to her, she was my dam,
I her foal and instinctively we knew that this was meant to be.

But a colt foal grows to a stallion, with a stallion's drive and needs.
Sara nudged my rump, disturbing my dreams of warm mother's milk and soft
straw-strewn beds.  I took my hint and moved around her, edging forwards
between her legs, careful not to put too much pressure on her.  Slowly
my tongue traced a route from her teats to her cunt, tasting the salty
traces of sweat there until at last her treasure was before me, mottled
pink against the whiteness of her thighs.  Breathing her mare's scent
deeply I planted two light kisses on her lips, paying homage at her
altar.  With a sigh I licked gently at the velvet lips before me, along
the length of her cunt, tasting her sweet readiness.  It's hard, almost
impossible to describe how she tasted, how any mare tastes:  a golden,
warm taste of sweet hay and smoke aged wood, beautiful and heady.

As I lapped at her she snorted, her cunt flashing at me, the bottom of
the lips curling upwards, the pink insides shining with her juices mine
to see.  A little spurt of her cream splattered onto my face, sending me
wild with lust. With a snarl I buried my face in her, my tongue plunging
between her lips and deep into her crevice, lapping at the honeyed walls
within, bathing in her fluids.  I felt her roll back, pinning me firmly
to the ground but not crushing me.  Reaching up I held her haunches, my
tongue never leaving her beautiful cunt, darting this way and that,
drinking her down like wine.  With a little wriggle closer to her my
tongue found her clit and, lips pursed, I sucked on it, setting of a
trembling spasm through Sara's body.  Her lips winked again, seeming to
pull me closer into her willing cavern, her taste exquisite, a beautiful
heady musk.  My hands roamed the soft hair of her rump, clung to her
firmness, her scent filling me, enveloping me in pleasure.  With each
wink I felt her body tremble, her whole frame shudder in the throes of
every little orgasm as my tongue and lips played on her.  Her warm body
lay atop me, weighty and comforting my body crushed against hers, my
cock hard against her heat, feeling her tremble.

In time I felt her gave a great shudder and a soft sigh, the tenseness
in her body relaxing, breaking like a sea wave upon the shores of lust.
I knew that she must have come, I'd never had a horse ever do that with
me before, in fact I'd heard it was impossible but there, in the light
of the dying fire of a Bedouin camp of an Arab prince, my lover and I
shared her moment of bliss, its fire touching the core of my being.  A
glow seemed to spread from her, wrapping itself around us, drawing me
closer, closer, into her very being to let me taste her pleasure.
Slowly she rolled from me.  With a last glance I moved from her cunt and
lay beside her, head to head, feeling a slight pain in my ribs where
she'd lain on me.  Cradling her neck in my arms she laid her head upon
my chest, her warm breath brushing care of the ache there away.  Hassan
seemed to have left us alone, he and his mare nowhere to be seen.

We lay together for a while;  the canopy of stars above us, the soft
crackle of the lowering fire and the distant tinkle of the goats' bells
by the oasis a gentle music of the night.  I could have wanted for
nothing else, my lover newly found lying beside me, I stroking her
cheek, each looking into the eyes of the other, speaking in the language
without tongues, speaking of things that no tapestry of words could
convey even if it were spun with silk from the lips of the finest poets.
Softly she moved her fine head downwards, ears flicking seductively,
warm breath washing over my cock like a desert wind.  Again she lapped
at me, wide and wet, bringing my cock to hardness.  Groaning I grasped a
handful of her mane, my back arching and she licked my cock.  As I
collapsed back onto the carpet with a sigh our gaze met again and I knew
it was time.

Swiftly I rose and moved down across her, rubbing by body against her
flanks, half crawling, half rolling down her body to her rump.  Sara's
tail flicked high into the air, a silken white fountain, bright and
shining in the gathering dark, a beacon to guide my lust.  I slid behind
her, running my fingers through her tail.  Her cunt winked seductively
at me as I caressed her tail, my hands falling to her snowy
hindquarters, tracing the line of her hind leg, feeling her power.  Her
head raised she looked over her shoulder, her eyes willing me on.  I
smiled at her,

"You are hungry aren't you, do you want something,"

Her snort was almost a laugh, the toss of her head most certainly was.

I edged forwards to her, taking my cock in my hand I touched its tip to
her lips; together we sighed at the contact, a flicker of lust trembling
through out bodies.  Gently I ran it over the gates to her paradise and
she winked back at me, trying to pull me in.  I couldn't resist her any
longer and with a hand on her flanks I eased forwards, my cock slipping
into her depths, her honeyed walls closing around me, caressing with her
powerful muscles.  Slowly I backed out and eased in again, starting a
gentle rhythm, her cunt seemed to burn, wet and hot with her lust, lips
flickering like flame, squeezing me tight, the ebb and flow of passion
consuming us in lust's conflagration, each giving and receiving.  Her
delight was plain to me, I felt the pleasure flowing from her, her eyes
glazing as she took me inside her, her cunt bathing me in her sweetness,
silk caressing my aching cock in a pleasure that screamed for release.
She snorted in her delight and I answered her, my eyes closed in a
welter of sensation, my body hers and hers mine.  We were together,
lovers and beloved.  I quickened pace, sliding in and out of her as she
winked her cunt;  smooth and deep I pleasured her until with a sigh it
was time and my lust spilled into her willing cunt, our essences
mingling, one creature out of two. Together.

I lay deep in her, slowly lowering myself to curl over her back, her
softness under me, holding me up.  After a time I slipped from her and
we lay together side by side once more.  Together we touched, caressing
in the afterglow of love, affirmations of affection, nuzzles and
cuddling in the desert night air.  I pressed against her and she against
me.

In time Hassan returned, his mare beside him.

"The first time should be special, something for you alone," he said.
"You are well suited, I knew you would be."

"Thank you," I replied, "she is..." I rubbed her ears and she pushed a
soft nose into my chest "... something quite special."

"And she is yours now my brother.  I am happy for her now.  She will
make a fine lover and will bear you many children."

"Inch' Allah," I replied, God Willing.

* * *

Sara and I made love many times that weekend.  I got my wish and she
carried me as I rode her naked across the moonlit dunes, to lie and love
together beneath the silent desert stars, our bond deepening,
strengthening.  Hassan was true to his word, within the week she had
arrived in quarantine in England.  The company were ecstatic that His
Excellency had decided to buy not one but two of our aircraft and my
Christmas bonus that year included a case of a particularly fine scotch.
As I received it from the managing director she dropped a little hint as
to the usefulness of my tastes to The Company.

"So how many zoophile heads of state are there then?" I asked, sotto
voce.

She fixed me with that deliciously irritating smile of hers, "You would
be surprised."

I daresay I would be too.

* * *

Six months later, quarantine over, I brought her home, much to the
delight of my human SO who went dewy eyed at her beauty and the thought
of the stallion she hoped we would get from her, a stallion she intended
to get to know very well.  But more than this the delight was mine and
that night, with the winter stars of Albion shining through her stable
door we lay again together, lovers reunited again, her warmth against me
and together we slid back to the desert sands of Araby

--

(c) Peter Unicorn, 1992/1993.  All rights reserved.
All characters and situations fictitious.  No resemblance to any
organisation or person, alive or dead, is implied or should be inferred.
This work remains the copyright of the author and is distributed as
HorseWare.   If you like it and choose to keep it and can afford a
little bit of cash please make a contribution to an equine charity.
Thank you.