Rainbow Falls

 

Good weather had been so very rare that spring.  A beautiful weekend was promised and Ms. Catherine Langston looked forward to her ride with vast enthusiasm. 

 

She woke early on Saturday and got an early start.  Traffic was light and she made excellent time.  She parked her car in the designated area at High Gate stables and changed her drab civilian garb and worn cross trainers for her riding attire and shiny boots.  She strapped on her rowelled spurs.  On her way to the stables, she stopped briefly at the coffee shop. She filled her thermos with ice and diet soda and tucked it back into her backpack.  Almost as an afterthought, she grabbed a shiny red apple from the large bowl lying on a table next to the door.  She had wanted to bring Big Boy a treat and almost forgot.  Sugar cubes were so bad for a Pony’s teeth.  As an afterthought, she stuffed a secpomd apple in the backpack.

 

The apple was just so tempting.  She allowed herself just one bite at first and then treated herself to a couple more as she crossed the yard.  She wasn’t disappointed.  The fruit was fragrant and crunchy. Its sweet juice flowed over her tongue and into her mouth.  She took another bite and another.   She just couldn’t help herself.

 

Madison, one of the exercise girls greeted her in the yard.  “Hi, Ms. Langston.  You’re taking Big Boy up to Rainbow Falls?”

 

Catherine nodded, yes, and smiled in anticipation.  The Rainbow Falls was a very special place.  She felt a vast desire for its beauty and solitude.

 

“Well, he’s saddled and ready.  You should have a great ride, but there’re rumors of ferals up there.  Are you sure you want to go alone?”

 

“I’ll be safe,” she reassured the girl.

 

Exactly as promised, Big Boy stood saddled and bridled.  He waited for her impatiently, tied at the slip rail.  He was an impressive Pony.  At 2.1 meters tall, he stood a full 50 cm taller than Catherine.  His weight was almost three times hers.  He was naked, of course, except for his gear.  His heavy muscles hung in thick well-cut plates.

 

His grooming was painstaking.  The hair on his head was shaped into a thick dark mane.  The hair on his face was clipped to an even quarter inch.  His profuse male body hair had been meticulously depilated.  His ample male paraphernalia were on naked display.

 

Despite the well-known male aversion to hygiene, Big Boy smelled only of his leather gear and the proprietary ointment favored at High Gate Stable to protect Ponies from sunburn and insects.  Grooming was important for more than appearance sake.  Methodical grooming accustomed even the most skittish Pony to handling.

 

            Catherine remembered the days before she could afford membership at the stables.  She volunteered as a groom in exchange for privileges and more than once tended to a male secured over a solid sawhorse.  Her friend Caitlin held his buttocks apart, while Catherine, flashlight in one hand and tweezers in the other, pursued the last stubborn hairs around his anus, all the time hoping that this male at least, had civilized bathroom habits and a settled stomach.

 

“Hey, Big Boy,” Catherine called out in case Big Boy hadn’t heard her approach.  Her rowelled spurs jingled as she walked.  Catherine felt almost naked without them.  Big Boy did not overlook their glistening sharp points or miss their meaning for an instant.  Passing quickly behind him, Catherine moved smartly.  She knew the tendency of some Ponies to kick when they had the chance.  She took the opportunity to drag her hand over his right buttock, just above her brand.  She ran her hand over the thick muscles of Big Boy’s back.  He pulled against the slip rail and pushed himself back against her hand, trying to increase the physical contact.  She patted him fondly on his muscular rump. He was a spirited creature, and he was hers.  Her brand marked him unmistakably as her property.

 

Strong buttocks and legs were the foundation of a good Pony.  Big Boy was among the best.  His strong legs supported muscular buttocks and his broad back offered his riders a secure seat.  His male size and strength were undeniably impressive.  Her confidence in her undeniable mastery thrilled her.

 

 “I’ve brought you a treat, “ she said brightly, then suddenly realized that not much of the apple remained uneaten.

 

Big Boy brayed his excitement.  As always, he was glad to see his mistress, even giddy.  His surgically modified larynx could not form words.  He opened his mouth in eager anticipation.  He thirsted endlessly for his mistress.  He lived and died for her approval.  His craving was unquenchable.  Ponies are herd animals and Catherine, had impressed herself thoroughly on her Pony as the uncontested leader of his herd.

 

Trying to turn toward her, Big Boy pulled unsuccessfully at the sturdy slip rail.  His attention focused on her fist.  As often than not, she brought him some sort of treat.  Salty or sweet, anything with flavor was a welcome relief from the bland monotony of the nutritious stable diet.  Often Catherine reached into her small pocket and retrieved a piece of dried fruit from her slit pocket.  Eagerly, Big Boy would open his mouth to receive it.  He anticipated its tart sweetness.  He sensed that the treat shared the warmth of Catherine’s body.  The dirt and grit acquired in its passage through her tight pocket did not diminish his pleasure; rather he relished its nearness to her body.

 

Big Boy shared the stable with a number of Ponies and he disliked each of them individually and despised them all collectively.  His hatred was returned intensely.  Today, Big Boy would not have to share Catherine’s attention. 

 

Catherine’s dark hair was braided in a tight ponytail for riding.  A brilliant white silk blouse and black leather jodhpurs accented her olive complexion.  Knee-high black leather boots enclosed her small feet and accented her shapely calves.  From her belt, hung her worn leather crop.  A smile illuminated her face.

 

            Catherine pulled on her thin leather riding gloves.  She could feel a male’s beard through the thin black leather.   She slipped Big Boy’s reins from the rail.  The reins were connected to the control rods set securely in his sensitive ear canals rather than to a bit as used with equines.  Eagerly, Big Boy turned his head and nuzzled her fist, hoping for a treat.

 

Grinning, Catherine pressed her opened her empty hand over his open mouth.  His fat tongue tickled her palm through the fine thin leather.  Big Boy’s enthusiasm faded when he found her hand was empty.  A sad frown darkened his guileless face.

 

“Silly boy!” Catherine said affectionately.  She popped the remnant of the three-quarters eaten apple into his gaping mouth, not much more than a core, careful to avoid dirtying her fingers and his sharp teeth. He took the core eagerly and chewed noisily. He seemed to enjoy it immensely  – seeds and all.

 

She pulled his head down to her by his nose ring and planted a kiss on his forehead. “Big Boy, you’re such a good boy!”  Curiously the word “man” had passed out of common usage while the word “boy” had not.

 

            “Mount!” she commanded and Big Boy knelt smartly with his left knee on the ground and right knee bent at right angles.  He wanted to please his mistress with all his being.  Catherine stepped up on his brawny right thigh and swung her left leg over the saddle.  She slipped her booted feet into the stirrups.  “Up!” she ordered and dragged her rowelled spurs over his flanks and let him feel their sharp points.  Big Boy respected her spurs and acknowledged her mastery instantly despite their vast disparity in size and physical strength. .

 

 

ii

 

Catherine loved to ride on the sandy beach below High Gate Stables in the first hours of the morning.  The fierce power of the summer sun was still gentled by the morning mist. The seaside sounds and smells admixed to form a perfect balm to the hustle and bustle of her busy life.  Her palm pilot lay peacefully in her locker. Her cell phone lay turned off and quiet.   Wave following wave, the waves rushed up onto the beach and receded smoothly into the ocean.  Her Pony’s harness creaked rhythmically as his powerful thighs rose and fell.  His callused feet pounded the hard sand with each distance-devouring stride.  Raucous calls of sea birds accented the complex euphony. Catherine inhaled the tangy sea air, aroma of richly polished leather and the faint musk of her Pony’s perspiration. Her phone’s incessant ringing and her endless schedule of urgent conferences and critical meetings slowly faded from her consciousness.

 

Her saddle, perched high at the back of her Pony’s neck, set solidly between his wide shoulder blades.  The saddle’s light-weight aluminum frame secured his heavy arms and transferred her weight downward to his pelvis and lowered their collective center of gravity.   His neck was even thicker than either of her trim thighs that draped over his broad shoulders and chest.  The toes of her soft, leather mid-calf boots rested in the hanging stirrups. For now, her heels rested lightly on his flanks.

 

One might well wonder how a woman might manage so large and strong a male. At 160 cm, Catherine was not short, but the top of her head reached no higher than the middle of Big Boy’s back.  He outweighed her more than 3-fold.   However, experienced riders, even smaller than she, easily controlled even larger Ponies with the padded wooden dowels – called control rods - inserted deeply in their exquisitely sensitive ear canals and held securely in place by a sturdy bridle – a leather strap that passed around the forehead and over the back of the head and two cross straps.  Stout hand grasps were provided on either side where the strap passed over the temples. The slightest pressure from the heel of a hand on a control rod pressed against the ear canal and turned the Pony promptly to the right or left.  Pressure on both rods brought him smartly to a stop. A male’s size and strength were firmly restrained to the service of his female rider.

 

The rising sun shone brightly.  The sky was a brilliant cloudless blue.  The run had been simply exhilarating.  Big Boy had answered her spurs promptly and thundered down the hard packed sand along the ocean’s edge.  His strapping thighs rose and fell tirelessly like the indefatigable pistons of a smoothly running engine.  His long, steady strides simply devoured distance.  He responded to the touch of her crop with yet more speed.  It was enough to take one’s breath away.  The wind had blown her sun hat back and it hung around her neck precariously by its tie. Her thick ponytail streamed out behind her.  She chuckled to think that Big Boy’s strength and endurance had perhaps even surprised himself. 

 

 

 

iii

 

At the mouth of the small stream, Catherine “whoaed” Big Boy and pulled gently on the reining rods.  He slowed smoothly to a walk.  His chest was heaving and perspiration poured from his great body but his efforts had not flagged until his rider had finally called him to a halt.

 

Catherine looked up the trail and saw the lower pool and behind it, the lower waterfall.  She had seen it many times before and its beauty never failed to take her breath.

 

Catherine’s hand on the right reining rod directed Big Boy up the trail.  Big Boy turned.  He was less taken with the beauty before him. Rather, he studied the softly rising path that ran beside the stream up to the lower pool and then climbed more steeply up to the top of the falls.  He examined the slippery ground, doubtfully.  Given his druthers, he would not venture up the treacherous path to the pool above the waterfall. However, he was not the one to decide.

 

The day was hot.  The secluded pool was waiting.  Somewhat impatiently, Catherine brought her spurs against his flanks gently at first and then again more sharply when he seemed to hesitate.  She swore she heard him sigh, but he started slowly up the track.  An experienced rider, Catherine let Big Boy pick his own way and set his own careful pace up the path beside the stream and then up the difficult path beside the falls.  Downhill was likely to be even more treacherous.  However, he was a sure-footed Pony and he wanted a tumble no more than she.  The waterfall soon roared before her and then beside her.  Its spray wet the ground and made the track slippery.  Her weight was little burden for Big Boy even on the steep trail, even given the uncertain footing.

 

When she reached the top, she knew once again why she had come.  As beautiful as had been the lower falls, the Rainbow Falls were yet more beautiful and the Rainbow pool deeper and more suitable for swimming.  Not one other person could be seen.  She saw no sign of any feral.

 

“Dismount,” she ordered.  As trained, Big Boy knelt promptly, with his left knee on the ground and his right knee bent at right angles.  Eager to swim, Catherine slipped from his back and stepped onto his thigh almost before he had braced himself for her weight.  Impatient to swim, she pulled on his reins and half lead and half dragged her much larger Pony to the railing the stables had so conveniently constructed.  Deftly, she secured him to the railing, choosing the shadiest spot.  His arms secured to the saddle, he would be unable to free himself.  In any event, his thumbs had been amputated and his four-fingered hands had no ability with knots or latches.  This morning, no other Pony was tied at railing.  Finally, she cuffed his right ankle with one of the fetters placed to keep a safe two yards between Ponies.

 

The ever-shifting feuds and desperate competition among the stable’s males were a constant source of trouble for the stable’s trainers, grooms, and exercise girls.  Caitlin had always said that an intact male was conventionally lazy, impulsive, and prone to violence.  Catherine agreed that a girl’s first Pony should always be a gelding.  Her first Pony had been a black gelding, named Beauty. He had been a graduation present from her granny.

 

Doc Andrews first visit to the stables after graduation in the summer was always especially busy.  Eager, chattering girls stood in line with their newly purchased Ponies dressed in their crisp, new equestrienne attire.  The stable’s always-hungry dogs ran about, yapping excitedly.  Confronted with the gelding frame, many Ponies balked, once they perceived its purpose. Many embarrassed new owners needed help from the obliging exercise girls to secure their Ponies. The newly made geldings offered no resistance as they were led away.   Their freshly taken testicles lay ignored on the grounds until some dog or other overcame his fear and darted in to seize his bleeding prize.

 

More experienced riders often preferred an intact male. One might impress herself totally on her spirited Pony and construct a deep and durable bond.  An impressed Pony’s craving for his mistress’ attention was unquenchable, his need for her approval desperate.  His feelings were often deeply ardent and quite poignant in a sentimental sort of way - a source of public humor.  In the stables though, jealousy among intact males was rife and anxious rivalry sometimes erupted into actual physical aggression.

 

Her second Pony had been a superannuated intact male named Prince Charming.  She still had had her studio apartment then and his price was right.  He had a great heart and served her well for three years before his joints failed and she had had to put him down.

 

Quickly, Catherine checked Big Boy out and found everything in order.  She placed her gloved hand on the sweat-slick skin of his back. He was hot to the touch.   He gave off a tantalizing musky aroma.  “You’ll be all right here,” she said.  Eager for her touch, Big Boy pressed himself backwards against her hand.  Playfully, she slid her hand down along his spine to the top of the crease between his muscular buttocks.

 

“I’m going for a swim and I’ll be back.”  Catherine said and then wondered why she had bothered to explain herself to the beast.  She slapped his firm buttock playfully.

 

Catherine looked for a dry place to put her clothes and undressed.  She shucked off her backpack. She pulled off her thin leather riding gloves.  Careful to avoid the sharp points of her rowelled spurs, she wrestled off her boots.  She unbuttoned her white blouse and peeled off her jeans.  She folded her blouse and jeans and laid them carefully on top of her backpack.  Then she stripped off her socks and panties and piled them on top, much more casually. She almost forgot to remove the hat that still hung around her neck.

 

Catherine stood stark naked except for her waterproof watch, the fine gold chain around her neck, and her battered sun hat.  The rounded lines of her soft breasts accented the definite feminine sweep of her trim flanks and hips.  A pouting navel decorated her toned tummy.  A rectangular thatch of tightly curled hair crowned the unseen folds of her hidden sex.

 

 She looked quickly to her Pony.  Big Boy stood at the railing, saddled and bridled.  Otherwise, he was naked and inarguably male.  Once upon a time, Catherine had learned, a male might terrorize a score of adult women simply by threatening to expose his male apparatus.  That time was also safely in the past.  His thick sex hung blatantly between his brawny thighs.  Her outstretched fingers could barely contain his ripe scrotal sack.

 

Big Boy strained against his lead.  He tried to turn his head and look back at his mistress.   Stark naked, Catherine looked at her own bare limbs and snorted.  Her soft feminine curves contrasted with the male’s harsh angularity.  Thick plates of muscle hung from his large frame.  Her skin was smooth and unblemished.  The stable’s grooms worked diligently to depilate the exuberant body hair that betrayed Big Boy’s kinship with the bestial.

 

It was all so difficult to believe.  Now a woman’s female parts are recognized as her glory while a male’s paraphernalia are universally acknowledged as proof of his vulnerability.  A metal ring pierced the glans of Big Boy’s circumcised cock.  The grooms clipped this ring onto a second ring that pierced his navel, lifting his penis safely out of his groin and away from his brawny thighs, exposing the fat scrotum beneath.  No one might now doubt who commanded and who obeyed.

 

iv

 

            Catherine checked her watch.  She lowered herself into the crystal clear water.  She lay back and luxuriated into cool water and warm sun.  She pulled her sun hat over her face and closed her eyes.  She let her mind wander, totally at peace and serene.

 

            Suddenly, a loud crash recalled her from her reverie.  One female voice called out cheerfully.  Another answered, more distant, and a second crash sounded, followed by a shower of spray before Catherine could locate the source of the noise.  She pulled off the sun hat that shielded her face and saw two bobbing heads, one blond and one brunette, in the deep pool.  Two twenty-something young women squealed and splashed, gleefully.  Apparently, they had jumped from the Rainbow falls, thirty feet above.

 

            “Hey,” Catherine called, “watch who you’re splashing.”  Her friendly tone removed any hint of scold from her words.

 

            “Hey,” called the brunette, “Look, Emma, we’re not alone.”

 

            “Where?” called out the blonde.  “Where, Sheridan?”

 

            “See, over there!”  Sheridan pointed.

              

“Hey, over here,” Catherine waved and stood up.  “How did you guys get here?” 

 

Emma and Sheridan swam over and stood in the shallows.  They were as naked as Catherine. Once upon a time, a woman found unclothed might feel absolute fear and if not fear of violence, total shame.  Today, no one felt either dread or indignity, only honest and complete surprise.

 

“Hi, I’m Emma.  We were camping above the falls,” the brunette answered. 

 

“Isn’t this spot beautiful – simply brilliant,” said the blonde.  “Oh, I’m Sheridan.”

 

 Catherine could only agree.  “I’m Catherine Langston.  I rode up from High Gate Stables.  It’s really splendid up here  - or I guess, down here, depending how you look at it.”   She remembered that they had leaped from the Rainbow Falls.  Taken with their naïve enthusiasm and friendliness, she had already forgiven their uninvited invasion of her solitude and disruption of her serenity. The two girls reminded her of her niece.  She just wondered what they might think of her suddenly ancient, thirty-something body.

 

“Have you seen any ferals?”  Sheridan asked.  “We saw some signs around the upper falls.”

 

Catherine shook her head, no.

 

“You rode!  Then where’s your Pony?”  Emma scanned the bank.  One simply didn’t see a mature male every day.

 

Big Boy heard all the commotion.  The control rods blocked his ear canals and diminished his hearing significantly.  He pulled against his reins and tried to turn.  However, he had little slack and he could see little.

 

“There! There he is!”  said Sheridan.  In a flash, she was out of the water. The water streamed from her very female body as she emerged from the neck deep water.  The water formed droplets in the neatly trimmed blonde brush that crowned her sex. 

 

“He’s really a big one!” said Emma joining her friend at the railing, shaking the water from her brown hair.  Both were fit and attractive.

 

Big Boy could see the young women now.  The women were as naked as he and their gender was obvious and unmistakable.  He was very aware of their nudity and close proximity. Saddled and hobbled, he was completely helpless.  Anxiety growing, he looked urgently for Catherine.  He had no idea of what next they might do.

 

Catherine saw the two women by her Pony. She could sense Big Boy’s escalating agitation and reluctantly left the water to join them.  Ponies were known to kick.  She was relieved that she had hobbled him at the rail.

           

            “He’s so cute and he’s so huge!” marveled Sheridan.  Mature males were rare in the years since the Revolution when women had finally discovered that a simple reduction in male numbers had ended war and violent crime.  Big Boy was a truly exceptional specimen in that severely reduced number. “Can you imagine a time when half the people walking on the street looked like this guy?  No wonder women felt intimidated.”

 

            “Big Boy is huge,” Catherine agreed, then continued, “but we’ve got even larger males back at the stables.  Very few ordinary males were ever this large and they never walked around with their male paraphernalia just hanging out there - ever.”  Mature males were now confined to their ranches away from population centers until they were processed.  Except for those who visited the stables, worked on the ranches or at the processing plants, few had contact with adult males.

 

            “His skin’s so smooth,” Emma observed. She stroked his skin gently but to his increasing anxiety.  “He has no hair on his pubes – silky as a baby’s bottom.  Just touch him, Sheridan, if it’s okay with Catherine.”

 

            “Go ahead.  High Gate Stables maintains very high standards for grooming.”  Catherine wondered if the two young women understood just how much care Big Boy required.

 

Sheridan touched him, tentatively at first. “His pubes are smooth!”   Her curious finger explored the ring that pierced his glans and secured his sex to his navel ring.  Like all the males in the stable, he had been circumcised to facilitate hygiene.  She ran her carefully manicured finger down the length of his exposed sex and gently cupped his fat ball sack in her outstretched hand. Wickedly, she ran her finger back up the length of his sex, all the time watching his face.  “I heard they really like this.”

 

Big Boy shuddered visibly.  He was utterly confused.  He was surrounded by naked female skin – bare butts and tummies, soft, ripe breasts topped by pink areolas and darker nipples, and the mysterious hidden place he could not name between naked female thighs. He had never been the beneficiary of any sort of sex education.  However, he had powerful, uncontrollable urges he simply did not understand. 

 

Feelings of panic rose.  He brayed his distress.  His nudity did not bother him.  He had always been naked.  He had also had some experience with women.  Women had reared Big Boy at the crèche.  Women had broken him to saddle and bridle.

 

He remembered when his body changed, demonstrating his undeniable otherness.  He had sprouted hair in all sorts of unexpected places.  He had grown rapidly in height and weight.  Within a short time, he was taller and heavier than any of the grooms and exercise girls and he kept on growing. His strength increased; his muscles enlarged and took new definition.  He had seen other joeys change before him but unable to speak, had been unable to question them. 

 

The trainers had added more and more weight to his training saddle.  He had answered their challenge readily.  He remembered the first time he had been bridled and saddled without any extra weights.  Leah, the smallest exercise girl, clambered up on his back.  He carried her proudly around the ring, like one of the fully-grown Ponies.

 

He also remembered the new feelings that he could not name.  He awoke to find his penis swollen and hard.  He felt pleasure – intense pleasure - not pain – when he touched himself.  He remembered the time when Caitlin groomed him and his body reacted. He was afraid but he knew he had done nothing on purpose.  Caitlin had laughed – but hadn’t seemed angry with him.  He felt betrayed by his body.  She had touched him gently and the soft touch of her hand had felt so very good.  She had smiled kindly, and told him that he was a big boy now.   Unable to talk, he could not ask any questions or share any feelings.

 

Later, alone in his stall, he had touched himself.  Even with his vigorous training schedule and thorough grooming, he had many long hours alone.  With enough touching, his penis spurted.  It was different than pee and felt so good.

 

He remembered the night he awoke to a flashlight’s harsh glare to find Caitlin and Catherine standing over him.  He started to stand.  Standing, neither of the women reached his shoulder and he weighed more than the two of them together. When his eyes adjusted to the light he saw the electric prod in her hand.  A touch of the prod could reduce a full grown male to a urine-dribbling heap of twitching arms and legs, choking on his own vomit.

 

“Don’t move, Big Boy,” Caitlin warned.  Hastily, he lay back down. “Okay, Catherine.  One more chance – truth or dare!  Just tell me who you went out with last night.”

 

Catherine looked at Caitlin.  “Dare!” she said, defiantly. Then she squatted next to Big Boy’s supine form.  “Don’t worry, Big Boy I won’t hurt you,” she reassured him quietly.  Given the disparity in their sizes, her reassurance might have seemed almost ridiculous.

 

“Just tell me who you were with last night,” Caitlin repeated herself.  “I could make you use your mouth.”

 

Catherine looked up at Caitlin and even in the darkness, her eyes flashed with anger.  “Dare!” she repeated.

 

“Okay, just jerk him off.”

 

Catherine steadied herself with one hand on Big Boy’s belly and took his large sex in her small hand.  That night, she gave Big Boy real comfort.

 

Today in the bright sunlight, Big Boy closed his eyes and fought to calm himself.  They seemed to swarm over him.   Even without sight or sound, something of their female essence called forcefully to him and moved him deeply to his masculine core.  Sun and exertion worked a subtle alchemy on female flesh, eliciting a delicate but enthralling scent, accented by the faint residua of enticing shampoo, sunscreen, and perfume. His poorly understood feelings roiled.

 

His control totally overwhelmed, he groaned in misery.  His sex engorged under Sheridan’s provocative touch. Without volition, his pelvis thrust rhythmically against her, trying to increase the delicious pressure.

 

 “Do you want to have sex with me?”  She asked laughing.  “See, he wants to have sex with me,” she said brightly to the others.  Lady, he’s as thick as my wrist! Well maybe not as thick – but almost.”

 

Emma remembered that enough manipulation might cause the creature to spew his mess.  “Sheridan, just be careful!  This might get a bit untidy,” she snorted, wrinkling up her nose. 

 

Sheridan pulled back her hand and jumped away. She had no desire to see the beast spurt his filth on her clean body.

 

“I had a dog once who humped like that,” Emma offered.

 

“Give my poor Big Boy a break,” Catherine gathered up her Pony’s reins.  “He really can’t help himself.”  She was truly fond of her Pony.  His diligent service had earned him at least a little bit of indulgence.  She felt a delicious ache between her thighs, but the idea of intimate relations with livestock was primitive and repulsive.

 

“I think he’s disgusting,” ventured Emma.

 

“I think he’s kind of cute,” answered Sheridan.

 

“Would you like to go up on him,” Catherine offered.  She retrieved her crop from Big Boy’s saddle, then removed his hobble and unshackled his ankle.  She gathered up his reins in her fist.

 

“Great, I’ll try.” responded Sheridan.  “I wish I had a camera.”

 

“Mount!” Catherine ordered.  For a long two seconds, Big Boy was confused.  Catherine stood in front of him and not positioned to his right.  She swatted his knee with her crop and his confusion vanished.  He went down on his left knee and bent his right knee at right angles.  “Grab the bridle and step up on his right thigh,” Catherine instructed Sheridan.

 

Sheridan grabbed his bridle and hesitated a long moment.

 

Catherine shook her head. “Step up on his thigh with your right foot and swing your left leg over his neck.   Big Boy won’t bite!”

 

Sheridan lifted her right foot onto his right thigh and swung her left leg over Big Boy’s thick, strong neck.  Her bare bottom, still wet, settled into his saddle heavily.  Her feet still sought the stirrups awkwardly, when Catherine ordered Big Boy, “Up!”

 

Big Boy rose quickly and Sheridan’s slippery bottom almost slipped from the saddle, her feet not yet in the stirrups.  To keep from falling, she threw herself forward and wrapped her arms around Big Boy’s head and her legs around his thick, muscular neck.  “Don’t look at me, don’t look at me,” she called, laughing at her own folly.

 

Emma laughed aloud.  Her dark head shook with merriment.  Catherine worried that the raw girl might hurt herself.  Sheridan hung on fiercely.

 

            Big Boy found himself smothered in wet, cold female flesh.  Sheridan’s soft breasts pressed against his head.  Her trim thighs squeezed his neck tightly and her coarse bush scratched the back of his neck.  Naked fear spiced Sheridan’s enticing female essence. Big Boy turned his head and pressed his cheek into Sheridan’s bare breast, thoroughly overwhelmed.  If he could turn his head a bit further, he could take her nipple in his mouth. 

 

Aware only of the danger of falling, Sheridan was oblivious to his presumption.  Catherine, though, saw it all.  She flicked her crop against Big Boy’s exposed scrotum and he quickly regained his manners

 

            After what seemed an eternity, Sheridan’s feet found the stirrups. She disengaged slowly and carefully, now firmly in the saddle.  She grasped the reins in something like the appropriate grip.  “Hey, Emma, look at me! His facial hair – his beard -  tickles.”  She touched her itching breast. 

 

            “Sheridan, just be careful,” Catherine warned.  “Okay.  Emma, do you want a turn too?”  She dropped the reins and spun around.  A heavy rock had crashed into her shoulder.

 

            “Run, you asshole, run!” a coarse male voice shouted.  The women looked up. Two feral males had appeared suddenly out of nowhere.  Filthy rags half covered their male parts.  Their odor was as overpowering as their appearance.  One had thrown the rock at Catherine.  The second wielded a sharpened stick as a spear. 

 

Big Boy hesitated.  He looked at Catherine.  The rock had almost knocked her from her feet.  She stood stunned and cradled her injured shoulder.  Her pain was apparent in her face.  Then he looked at the ferals who just stood their ground and taunted the women – males like him but unrestrained by control rods and reins, living free without spurs or whips.  Suddenly he realized that no one held his reins, no one at all.  For once in his life, he was free.  Big Boy took off at a run.  However, the saddle still restrained his arms. He sprinted toward the males. 

 

Sheridan shrieked.  She bounced in the saddle and hung on precariously for dear life.  She didn’t know whether to hold on or try to slip off Big Boy’s back.  She had no idea how to use the control rods.  Big Boy ran, totally oblivious to her screaming.

 

Emma watched.  Her mouth gaped open but she was unable to make a sound.

 

Big Boy neared the male who had thrown the rock at Catherine.  A novel expression appeared on Big Boy’s face – anger.

 

The first male did not see it.  He turned to leave and presumed that Big Boy would follow and make his escape. 

 

Big Boy ran after him and Sheridan hung on grimly.  He negotiated the difficult ground with ease and continued at his very swift pace.  He had been raised and trained for speed and endurance.  No one gave chase.

 

Finally, Emma found her voice.  “Sheridan!” she wailed.

 

At that instant, Big Boy caught up the feral who had thrown the rock at Catherine.  He changed direction slightly and ran full tilt into his back.  Big Boy outweighed him by a half and the impact threw the male forward.  Utterly surprised, the wilding hit the ground hard.  Big Boy stumbled but kept his feet and came to an unsteady stop.

 

Sheridan took the welcomed opportunity to slide from the saddle.  She hit the ground and fell, heavily.  She stood shakily.

 

The feral rose unsteadily to his hands and knees.  Big Boy kicked him hard and he fell again. The fighting skills that had served Big Boy in the stables, helped him here.

 

The second feral hefted his makeshift spear and ran toward Sheridan. It was all so fast that Emma had no time to do anything.  Big Boy ran to put himself between Sheridan and her attacker.  He ran into the spear shaft and spun the feral around.

 

The beast staggered but quickly regained his footing.  He saw that he faced three women and the large male alone.  His companion was unconscious and no help.  He recalculated the odds in a flash, turned, and ran off with typical male courage.

 

“Mount” Catherine commanded and Big Boy dropped on his left knee.

 

Sheridan squatted naked beside the downed male.  He began to stir.  “Has anyone got a knife?” she asked, searching the ground to her left and right.

 

“I’ve got a pocket knife in my back pack somewhere,” Catherine offered, trying to be helpful.  Her painful shoulder still throbbed.  She started toward where her backpack lay with her clothes.  “Someone get Big Boy.” The pain in her shoulder was obvious.

 

Emma quickly grabbed Big Boy’s reins.  She gripped them tightly.

 

The feral male moaned and began to rise, slowly and unsteadily.  He struggled weakly to his hands and knees again and paused.

 

Anxiously, Sheridan looked quickly at Catherine and then at Catherine’s backpack.  Surrendering to the emerging crisis, she grabbed a fist-sized rock and hit the side of the wilding’s head.  She hit him again hard and he collapsed back to the ground.  She hit him two more times and bloody fluid ran from his nose and ear.

 

Sheridan stood with the bloody rock still in her hand.  She looked down and studied her victim.  She rolled him onto his back with her foot.  Without resistance, he flopped limply over supine.  Sheridan took careful aim and soccer-kicked his lolling head.  The side of her foot lifted his entire body from the ground to the waist and when he landed, his neck was bent at an unnatural angle.  “It’s a lot easier if you have a knife,” she said very matter-of-factly.

 

Sheridan straddled his unmoving form and looked down.    “Someone had better call the rangers.”

 

“I’ve got a cell phone just somewhere in my backpack,” Catherine confessed as she went to retrieve Big Boy’s reins from Emma.  She thought she might also find an uneaten apple for Big Boy.