She held his hand and swung his arm so as to rub across her chest.My imagination was off to the races. Were they daughter and father? Were they lovers... Would they become lovers? Was he just a man who lusted for, and found, young women? Did she wear a thong? (Certainly no panty line.) Were her nipples still puffy or had they acquired the contrast to complement her rich honey colored skin? 'Fortunate the man who could pay tribute to this young Venus,' I thought. The weekend was largely spent on. We talked on awhile about other things until the conversation drifted back to the pony. Well, Arnold finally just said we should go try it out. I was a bit submissive and what; today; you would call a sissy. I liked to wear girls underwear and stockings a lot back then. So, I just kind of went along with Arnold and we made our way up to the barn where we could corral the pony and tie her up. Arnold said he wasn’t going to stick his cock in that big old cunt and he thought I should do it first. "I need some fresh air", she thought and slid open the glass door and stepped out onto the balcony. The humidity hit her like a wall when she stepped through. The last glimmer of sunset was lost in a murky haze, with dark clouds looming overhead. Far off in the distance, she could see a distant flicker of lightning. The air was still, pensive. Nature seemed to be holding her breath, waiting for the cooling rain. The only sounds were the faint buzz of Sunday night traffic and a few indistinct. After a lot of ego boosting spirits, together they staggered to the station, each buying a big bunch of flowers from a stall in the station, (the railway equivalent of ‘petrol station after-thought flowers’,) both thinking it, an ice breaker, a diplomatic start of their week of hopeful lust. Taking their places in the train and sharing a last nip from their hip flask`s, they exchanged wives names, house keys and oh the house addresses, just in case, each saying that the wives should be meeting.
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