Chapter 4

"Oliver! Oliver, you and I must talk," Myrna said in a gush as she burst in on the circus manager late that night. "You'll never believe this. But, already that little she-bitch has got her heat on--and I just left her licking Justice's ass in the center ring."

"You should have joined in, my dear." Oliver grinned lewdly at the animal whip in Myrna's hand. 'Evidently, you'll just have to start whipping the girl into shape earlier than you thought."

Oliver Oates, short, squat and blond, chuckled like a greedy fat child after three candy bars.

He was a punster when he could be but most often Myrna's whip cut his wit off short. She glared at him now.

"This is no time for bad jokes, Oliver Oates." She reprimanded the fat little man and the chuckle disappeared. "We're going to have trouble with that kid."

"What kind of trouble, Myrna?" Oliver whined. "I thought your sister said she was an animal lover."

"Oh, stop your sniveling and let me think!" Myrna snapped, then turned her back on Oliver's dismay and stared into the night. "Oh, it's no use!" She stomped her foot, then turned back to face Oates. "I'm sure what Amanda says about the girl is true enough, but that's not the question here."

"Why! I believe you're jealous, Myrna love," Oliver said cunningly.

"What? Of that kid? She couldn't possibly come between me and the animals. Why, my years of experience alone... Hell, I'm old enough to be her mother!"

"That's not what she's come between, dear," Oliver said with relish in his voice. "She's come between you and Justice, Dear. And you're afraid she might be better than you."

"That little brown nose," sneered Myrna unconvincingly. "She'll never be the cocksucker I am--I can assure you of that."

"Have you checked the animals yet?" asked Oliver, suddenly feeling queasy and wanting to change the subject in the face of Myrna's wrath.

"No," Myrna answered irritably. She had nearly forgotten her nightly check she was so pissed at that little bitch. "No, I haven't, dammit! And wipe that sneer off your face!"

"Yes, Myrna," Oliver said sheepishly as with some effort he turned his lips up into a grin.

"And wipe that insane smile off your face, as well!" Myrna's voice rose in a tirade and Oliver was caught betwixt and between.

When Oliver had nowhere else to go, he became jovial: "Yes, indeedy!"

"Oh God, you are incorrigible," Myrna gasped, completely exasperated. "Come on. I want you along when I check the animals."

"Not tonight, Myrna."

"Tonight, Oliver," Myrna insisted, now firmly gaining control of herself. "I haven't seen you around the ewe much lately. For a while there, a real love affair was going on. What happened, Oliver? She too hot to handle?"

"There's no need for abuse, Myrna. I'll come with you, of course; just let me get my coat."

As they walked together across the circus ground to the animal tent, Oliver's shape was like a butterball next to the statuesque Myrna. She was still in a lather and smacked the coiled whip against her leg like a tambourine in march step. Her jaw was set and her eyes gleamed with a hidden fever. Her strides were so long that the shorter legs of Oliver nearly had to run to keep up with her.

When Myrna was in this kind of mood Oliver knew better than to say anything; so he merely hurried along by her side and kept silent.

When they arrived at the animal tent, Myrna suddenly ordered: "Put your hipboots on, Oliver. I want you in the ring with the ewe."

Rather than enrage her any further Oliver shrugged his coat off and took the huge rubber boots to a nearby bench and sat down.

Myrna moved between the bars of the cage rows until she found the ewe and her ram. Then she trotted out the female while holding the old man off with the handle of her whip against his forehead. "Phew!" she grunted with the effort. Turning, she saw that Oliver already had his pants off and was into his hipboots. He looked ludicrous; the plump mounds of his white ass glared chubbily in the dark. She flicked the whip sharply from her side and a tiny ping of pain stung Oliver's behind.

"Now you know how I feel about the whip, Myrna. I forbid you to employ it on me!"

"Shut up, and get in the pen, Oliver. Here's the ewe."

The sheep's eyes gleamed like red rocks of fire in her white head as she gazed up at Oliver from beneath Myrna's hand. He was entranced by those eyes and moved like a fat wooden soldier into the training pen.

The ewe followed and Myrna swung the gate closed behind them. Oliver had his back to the animal and when she pawed the ground impatiently he turned to face her. He approached her with a coo in his voice so as not to get her excited at first. He wanted to avoid a struggle with her legs when he picked up her rear end and imprisoned the limbs within his boots. He soothed her fleecy coat with light strokes as he moved along her flank.

"Good girl. Good. Take it easy." Oliver's voice was gentle and sure; as he took her by the loins and dropped her hooves into the hipboot tops. She squirmed a little and Oliver had to struggle to avoid being toppled, but soon she calmed and he soothed her rump with gentle hands. Expertly his fingers found the puckered twat beneath the sheep's fleecy ass and he moved his stubby cock toward its goal. Wriggling the tip of his stem into the blossom of the ewe's cunt.

Just then Myrna's whip stung him like a bee on his chubby ass and he screeched his displeasure.

"No whip, Myrna! No whip--I told you that!"

Oliver was beginning to sweat from the effort required to keep the wriggling ewe impaled on his prick. He grasped each side of the sheep's flanks and clutched the loins of her legs to him while his midsection worked to get a rhythm started. He was huffing and puffing around the pen with the sheep's weight on her forward hooves like a wheelbarrow. He was maintaining his own-- but it was a struggle. Finally he managed to guide her into a corner of the square pen and to press her into it. Her head tucked between the ropes while Oliver resumed his thrusts.

The ewe's twat was elastic and hot around Oliver's stubby joint. As he stroked, it pulled on his foreskin like a suction cup. Both the men and the animal were grunting and too far out of whip range for Myrna to flick.

Lazily she considered whether or not to enter the pen and nick little fleshpots from Oliver's ass with the whip. But she tried not to be cruel to any beast. So, instead she put the thought away and leaned on the gate to watch.

Joan awoke with a start from where she slept curled like a kitten in the crook of Justice's arm. She listened tensely for some sign of what had awakened her, while Justice groaned in his sleep and rolled away from her tension.

There it is again, she thought when the sound of the squawking ewe reached her ears from the direction of the animal tent.

Like a cat she slipped silently to her feet and rubbed her eyes to adjust them from the glow of sleep to the dark night. Then treading with her lightest step she slipped through the night toward the source of the noise. She was the huntress again, and so caught up in the role of a stalking cat was she that she crept off and forgot the room key still clutched in Justice's sleeping hand.

She paused for a moment when she became aware of the cool night air on the swath of her exposed skin. She quietly zipped the leotards back together and the white flesh disappeared with only the slightest of whispers. Then she resumed her quiet stalking of the sounds that had awakened her.

She followed stealthily past the tiers of seats and into the hallway to the animal tent. She crept along in the deepest shadows with all her senses alert and like a leopard did not make a sound.

The grunting increased and she began to suspect that both a human and an animal were responsible for it. As she drew closer she saw the leather-clad figure of Myrna Westmore leaning against the corral fence. Not wishing to be discovered sneaking about silently, Joan changed her tack. She stepped out of the shadows boldly, being sure to scrape her feet for the noise and approached the apparently enraptured Myrna with a firm step.

As she drew within a few feet of Myrna, the woman's voice suddenly cracked like a whip. "You could have come silently, Joan. I've known you were coming for some time now!"

"You think you always know, don't you?" Joan said reaching the gate. "You said something very much like that this morning when you found me in the main tent. Did you arrange this show for my benefit?"

"Let's say in response to the brown nosing you were doing with Justice earlier..." Joan eyed the white globes of Oliver's fat ass as they bobbed gelatinously in the dim light.

"What's that--a ewe--he's with? And who is it anyway?"

"Oliver Oates, my dear, the circus manager. And to answer your first question: yes, it is a ewe."

Myrna's voice dropped into a matter-of-fact, friendly tone as she continued, "He was too busy to see you today. You'll meet shortly, though, I'm sure. And now back to Justice, my dear. Another little something that didn't come to your attention today is that Justice is mine alone as long as he is with this circus." A dreamy light came into her eyes. "And I don't think he has any reason to complain." She licked her lips lasciviously.

Joan watched her with deliberate humor and mewed, "My, yes! He does taste good."

At first Myrna did not answer. All that could be heard was the cacophony of grunts and bawls from the fornicating couple in the corner of the pen.

With imperceptible slowness, her eyes seemed to fill with rage and Joan tried to imagine what Oliver and the ewe looked like through those angry eyes.

She could not. To her, they were simply an animal and a man engaged in the event of bestial sex. The union aroused heat in her loins while her mind became cool and stellar in its placid depths. The innocence she radiated in the face of Myrna's rage infuriated the woman to a new pitch. The cheshire expression on Joan's puss nearly made Myrna scream like one of her big savage cats. She would teach this little bitch!

"Think you're pretty good, don't you, pussycat?" Myrna snarled.

"When I want to be, just like everybody else." The cut was obvious and Joan left it to sink in as she continued coolly, "But I don't really wish to talk--I'd rather watch."

She turned on her words and gave her attention to the man and goat. No--ewe, she reminded herself, though what the difference it made she had not yet enough experience in her short life to comprehend.

Suddenly the enormity of her commitment to bestiality glared out of the pen at her and she was fascinated with the sight.

The bawling animal was like an overstuffed sheep dog, while the fat man's jolly buns bunched into her behind. In Joan's imagination she saw the two nutty putty mountains doing the soul shake behind the sheep and Joan squirmed with delight at the thought.

"Like to watch, do you?" Myrna drawled in Joan's ear. "All right. Come along with me."

Joan was fascinated by Oliver and the ewe and did not want to leave. But then she shrugged and complied. After all, Myrna was turning their relationship into a battleground and there seemed to be nothing else she could do.

Myrna turned and stalked off with a suddenly tired Joan following. From Myrna's tone, what was coming had to be something lewd and Joan wondered whether or not it was all worth it. She was strangely dissatisfied with the whole affair. Bestiality seemed sordid when in the presence of Myrna and Joan did not like the change. Myrna seemed to make a special effort to be dislikeable at the outset of any exchange between the two of them. Joan wondered at the cause.

Amanda was not like that. Joan's mind ran over remembrances of Amanda: the secret, almost blushing smile that washed across her face as Prince fucked Joan and Amanda watched. She truly enjoyed the play. But not so, it seemed with Myrna. Myrna wanted to corrupt everything with hate. Again Joan wondered what it was that Myrna wished to show her. She would try to make it ugly and Joan would fight to keep it pure. The stage was set.

Myrna emerged from the shadows, leading a pony behind her. The animal's coat was like steeldust in the dim light. And Joan could see a tired, woeful expression on his face.

"It's late to wake him up, isn't it?" she asked Myrna with concern.

The woman only smirked and shouldered her way past the girl, with the small horse trailing dutifully along.

Don't let her get your goat now, girl, Joan reminded herself to be cool. Quietly she joined the train of midnight figures in the rear.

Myrna led her back past Oliver and the ewe. Joan paused long enough to make out that the man must be cumming. Good! she thought triumphantly. Myrna did not see.

But she did not stay long, as the pony's flank was already disappearing from view. She hurried to catch Up.

Myrna seemed to be headed for the center ring.

Joan wondered if Justice was still there and what he would do if Myrna found him. As they entered the ring she breathed a sigh of relief to note that he had gone. Then she remembered he still must have her key.

Myrna's whip swiftly cracked through the air and the pony trotted away in a widening circle. The whip snapped again and the pony's iron-shod hooves began a rhythmic clomp.

Joan was not sure, but she guessed he was a long-haired shetland. His tail stood behind him like a silver comb and streamed in a point to the long grey feathers floating along his flank. His white mane slapped the steeldust grey of his noble neck and his head turned his eye to follow Myrna's commands.

The whip cracked at his forelegs and he began a goose-step trot. Clip clop, clip clop went his hooves as he strutted proudly about the circus ring. Joan's heart went out to the horse: how beautiful he wag.

Myrna's whip cracked between the pony's legs and he slowed to a walk. Joan found herself standing next to the seat she had been in earlier in the day, and she sat down to watch the show again.

Myrna was an incredibly compelling figure in the gloom of the dark tent as she spun on her heel to follow the pony's walk. His pace quickened again to the snap of the whip in the air and his coat seemed to sparkle electricity in the dark. Blue sparks clung to his gunbarrel colored coat and shone brightly.

The woman looked like a leather crop handle as she revolved in the center of the ring. Her fingers toyed down the front of her leathers and unfastened the buttons one by one. Her face cast a leonine glare into the shadows where Joan sat and she swelled her breasts with contempt.

She pulled the tails of her deerskin shirt from her waistband and ran her red-nailed hands across her golden abdomen.

Despite her reserve Joan's breath quickened a notch. So did the pony's trot.

Myrna flared the bells of her slender nose, shook her head and stepped up the pace with a nick of the whip on the pony's shiny flank. The animal snorted with the cruel flick and Joan felt contemptuous of Myrna. But she could not deny a flicker of interest in Myrna's charms.

Myrna stood planted in one place now with her body seeming to rock in a rhythm to the pony's clip-cloping hooves. She clutched the whip handle in her teeth while her arms struggled to get out of the snug fit of her leather coat. Her torso was bare beneath the garment and it seemed to Joan that her body was shiny with sweat.

She was like a pagan princess carved out of jade as she stood glaring at Joan with her bare breasts heaving and gleaming. They were as pendulous as Amanda's and swung from her chest like tropical melons. Joan felt her mouth desire a taste of the sweet water in the melons and stood up without hesitating to unzip her clothes.

When Myrna saw the movement, a leer of sadistic pleasure swept across her face and she peeled her lush hips out of her leather pants.

Joan rolled the leopard spotted garment off one shoulder at a time.

Her breasts were no match for Myrna's in weight but they had a greatly sensuous beauty all their own. Strawberry nipple tips crowned the gentle mounds of her young, eager, sexy flesh. She finished rolling one leg of her costume off as Myrna cast aside her own pants with one hand while she ran the other deeply into the lush dark growth of the furred vee between her legs. She watched the girl roll the other leg of her leotards off and approach her. Myrna was forced to admit to herself she admired what she was.

In the dim tent light Joan's slim body was elven. The sensuality of animal creatures glowed from within Joan and her lithe form radiated a feline grace.

The way she carries herself is so pussy-after-a-dish-of- cream, thought Myrna viciously, wondering how Joan would look with some horse cock stuffed well into her. If there was a chance, she'd damn well find out.

As Joan approached Myrna she felt her cunt heat up with expectation. She felt the hot slick crease between her legs moisten and the lips pout open as if for breath. Without speaking Joan bowed her head slightly as she reached Myrna and suckled her mouth onto the plum of the woman's breast.

The suddenness of the move surprised Myrna but she recovered herself quickly. Her right hand still held the whip and while Joan kissed and sucked her tender nipple, she ground the handle absentmindedly into her thigh as she spoke.

"I thought you said you liked to watch," Myrna's voice was contemptuous of Joan for what she took to be submission.

"I like to do this, too," Joan breathed heavily, as she took her mouth from Myrna's nipple to answer.

"What don't you like, my dear?" Myrna asked sarcastically.

"Cruelty," Joan replied with a level gaze at the woman.

Myrna laughed in her face.

"I am not cruel, my dear. My love is to administer discipline--not punishment. You misunderstand my actions."

"You may call it discipline, Myrna. But that's not what it looks like to me. Put down that whip if you're telling the truth and let's make love. We will soon know each other well enough to judge."

Myrna threw the whip aside and said scornfully, "I don't need a whip to tame you, pussycat. I can do it with my tongue!"

"We'll see," said Joan evenly and resumed mouthing Myrna's breast. She let the weight of her head hang from the pendulum's end and encircled Myrna's waist with her arms. Myrna allowed her knees to collapse and followed Joan's weight down until their bodies reached the earth.