Chapter 2

When Eileen awoke the next morning she still felt a warm, soft afterglow of sexual contentment. Her bed and body reeked of come, though it was a smell which she loved. She never failed to marvel at the way her cunt could transform sperm, giving it a sharp sexual scent. Mere sperm by itself could not begin to compare with the mixed essence of love, as she knew from having sniffed of her son's sheets after he had had a wet dream.

Nevertheless, she drew herself a bath, laced it liberally with pine-scented bath oil and got in with a grateful sigh. After reclining in the water and allowing it to lull her into a state of near-unconsciousness, she stirred and lathered her pussy with care, washing away every trace of Hank's ejaculation. After emerging from her bedroom, fully bathed and dressed, she prepared a hearty breakfast and ate every bit of it.

There were only two couples staying at the ranch--it was a bit early for the summer crowd--and she knew that Hank could take care of their needs. She spent the morning in straightening up her accounts and walked down to the mailbox in time to meet the mailman. Sorting through the collection he gave her, she picked out the most likely envelopes to open first. The reservations for summer visits were coming in even faster than last year, which had been her best season ever, and she made the proper entries in her reservations book and typed out the answering cards. As she was finishing this task, the telephone on her cluttered desk rang and she picked up the receiver.

"Mrs. Tremaine? I was wondering if perhaps you might have a vacant cabin this week?" the caller asked. "I've just discovered that I'm going to have a couple of weeks free and, since I've been wanting to visit your ranch I thought I might be able to take this opportunity."

"Yes, I have a number of vacancies," Eileen answered. "Rather a slow time of the year, just now."

"Good. I'm Doreen Mason, Mrs. Al Mason," the caller said. "From Los Angeles. Fred and Arlene Winston recommended your ranch; I believe they stayed there last October."

"Er, I believe they did," Eileen agreed. "Very well, Mrs. Mason, I'll need your home address, home telephone number and your expected date of arrival."

When she received the information she jotted it down, thanked Mrs. Mason and hung up. She also wrote herself a note to meet Mrs. Mason at the airport in Salt Lake City the next day at noon, which was the earliest she could arrive. As always, when she took a reservation over the telephone, Eileen wondered about the caller. Doreen Mason had sounded young, perhaps thirty. Her voice had a sophisticated, educated quality and she had specifically requested one of the first-class cabins, making no sign of a protest when Ellen had mentioned the stiff rate she charged for the luxuriously furnished units.

I just hope she's not trying to crank herself up for a divorce or something, Eileen said to herself as she turned to other duties. They're always the most trouble, those wives who come out here to solve their problems.

Doreen Mason seemed not to have a care in the world, Eileen decided when she picked up the woman the next day and drove her back to the ranch. She explained her husband's absence by mentioning that he was a professor of psychology at a Los Angeles college and that he would hardly miss her for the two weeks, which came at the end of the term and would be primarily a season of test-giving and marking for him.

"He won't even know I'm gone," Doreen said. "Actually I'm sort of an advance party--a group of faculty wives have been looking for a nice ranch where we can go on a group excursion. You know, the sort of place where we can all get away from our husbands for a few days and let our hair down in privacy."

"There'll be plenty of privacy," Eileen assured her. "My theory is that you should give a guest as much leeway as she wants. If you want it that way, I'll make sure that no one will bother you."

Their conversation on the ride back to the ranch, a distance of some fifty miles, confirmed her initial friendly response to the new guest. Doreen Mason looked to be about thirty, as she had sounded over the phone, and was of medium height, though of a build verging toward plumpness. She was especially big in the breasts and Eileen had to suppress a smile at the thought of the woman riding a horse without a bra. She very obviously had not bothered to wear one on the plane and her big breasts jostled each other comfortably in the front of the expensively tailored silk shirt under her pantsuit. Her black hair and dark coloring meant that she would not be likely to become a sunburn victim, a relief, and also lent an aura of exotic interest to her plump cheeks and sparking brown eyes. Her regular features lit up with interest as they drove into the foothills in which the Bar T lay and Ellen saw that she was a very beautiful woman when sparked with curiosity or interest. By the time they turned in at the main gate of the ranch Eileen decided that she liked her new guest very much.

Later that afternoon, just before dinner, Eileen took a walk around the outbuildings of her ranch. She always derived a feeling of solid satisfaction from these walks and from looking at the evidence of material progress she and her late husband had made. The ranch had been only a tumble-down main house and a rat- infested barn when they had bought the place, almost fifteen years ago and shortly after their marriage. It had taken a lot of hard work but they had built it into a thriving enterprise and she knew the trim, spic-and-span buildings reflected success and prosperity.

Eileen turned the corner of the barn and came upon Doreen sitting on an upturned bucket and gazing intently into the corral. Looking that way, she saw Jackson, one of the burros they kept around the ranch for pack trips. An obstinate but sturdy little gray creature, he could be depended upon to eat anything left lying around a campsite and could empty a foodbox quicker than any group of cowboys she had ever known. Jackson stood placidly in the corral and nibbled at a few wisps of hay. Eileen walked closer to the woman, who stared at the burro as if she had been put into a trance; she was standing only a couple of feet away from Doreen before the woman turned to notice her. Eileen saw that her cheeks were flushed a deep hue of red and that she was highly agitated.

"My God, I'd always heard that about donkeys but I never really believed it!" Doreen whispered.

"What?" Eileen asked, seeing only the obstinate troublemaker she had always known. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"That cock! Look at that cock hanging down from his belly!"

Eileen looked and had to suppress a giggle. As Doreen had said, Jackson's prick was indeed hanging from his scruffy gray belly. The instrument was dark-brown and drooped limply for about a foot. Doreen's hotly flushed face and bright, glinting eyes suggested that she found the sight exciting.

"Oh, that," Eileen said. "The burros are always doing that. The horses, too, at least the geldings and the stud. It doesn't mean anything, I don't think. My husband used to tell me that they ran their cocks out to cool them off!"

"Yes, I can see that it isn't hard," Doreen whispered. "But the size of the thing! Are horses much bigger than that?"

"Come to think of it, they're not," Eileen remarked. "That's a curious thing about animals, at least horses and burros. There isn't much difference in their cocks when they're hard and when they aren't, except that they get harder. But no bigger, though."

She could see that the woman was highly excited by the donkey's prick, which amused her. She herself had been around the ranch's animals far too long to see them as anything but familiar fixtures.

"I'll tell you what," Eileen suggested after a moment, during which Doreen had said nothing at all and had not removed her eyes from Jackson's cock. "If you'd like to go along, we could take a little drive tomorrow. I know something that might really interest you. Some of the neighbors are bringing over a couple of mares who are coming into heat; they're going to breed them to my stallion. We can slip down to the horse pasture tomorrow and have a good look at the proceedings if you'd like."

"Could we?" Doreen asked, moving her eyes away from Jackson for the first time. "My God, what an exciting thing to see! I've always beard about stallions and their mares; it sounds like it would be out of sight! Ooohh, I'd love to go!"

They made a date of it and Eileen promised to pick Doreen up at eight o'clock sharp for the drive to the horse pasture. She kept Ace, her prize stallion, in a pen by himself a couple of miles farther up a canyon, well away from the main cluster of buildings. Doreen had a question as soon as she got into the pickup the next morning.

"Will there be other people there?" she asked. "I think I'd be ashamed to watch if there were other people around. Isn't that hypocritical of me?"

"I don't know if it's hypocritical or not," Eileen said, "but I came prepared just in case. I've got a spotting telescope here and we can park well away from the lot if you'd rather. There will be some other people there--Hank, my foreman, and the men who own the mares. Come to think of it, you might feel a little out of place around them. I mean, it would be perfectly obvious that we'd come there just to see the mares get fucked."

Eileen had deliberately used the vulgar term, hoping to measure Doreen's reaction, and she scored a success right away. The woman's face flushed brightly and she averted her eyes at the mention of the plain, sturdy verb. Eileen congratulated herself upon having read her guest correctly: Doreen wanted to witness the breeding of a mare simply to excite herself. Evidently she was the kind of woman who found sexual activity exciting to watch, even though it only involved animals. Eileen had witnessed far too many breedings to find any special erotic thrill in it any longer; she associated a breeding with a lot of hard, dusty, sweaty work.

"It might be a little different from what you're expecting," she said as she turned off the main track and took the pickup into rougher country. "A stallion isn't always as horny as a man; sometimes he has to be coaxed into doing his work."