Chapter 4
Mona was puzzled; Al was behaving differently since they had come to the spa. She was afraid he was going to start in on the sex thing. She made a face as she changed out of her riding clothes and into something more comfortable and ... decent.
She was going to spend the afternoon as she spent almost every afternoon since she had come to the spa: sitting out on their patio, reading a book. War and Peace. She had promised she would read it on their vacation. She had brought it along in her suitcase along with another book that was as heavy as a dictionary: The Arts, by Hendrick Wilhelm Van Loon.
Both books were guarantees to cure insomnia, and even Mona found her mind wandering after a few ponderous paragraphs.
Her mind wandered to horseback riding. She didn't like to think of it too much, but she actually enjoyed riding in a rather surprisingly erotic way. She had never ridden a horse before they came to Donnymead and only did it to get away from that pool crowd.
So Mona dressed in slacks and a blouse, unable to hide her lush young body. No matter what kind of clothes she wore, she was unable to conceal her rhythmic walk and swaying hips and flowing thighs. When Mona moved, all of her body moved in a liquid way that was almost a flirtation. Her firmly high-riding breasts quivered slightly in a tantalizing way that drove males up the wall. Her hips seemed almost to writhe as she moved and her nicely rounded buttocks moved like quicksilver under her slacks.
Her face contained a cool elegance that masked what was beneath the surface. Anyone seeing her sitting in her chaise under an umbrella would say: there's a cool and collected one. It was far from the truth.
She was reading War and Peace, but her mind was far away, thinking of horses.
Although she hadn't anticipated it and was actually frightened by the beasts, she had come to love riding. In fact, she spent each day looking forward to the next and was already trying to figure out how to continue riding once they got back to Los Angeles. Riding excited her in a way she had never imagined: it excited her sexually. Once she had swung up on a horse and let her weight settle in the saddle, she found her vagina was pressed down in a way that wasn't at all unpleasant.
Once she started riding, she was in for another pleasant surprise ... it got more exciting. She discovered that staying on a moving horse wasn't an easy thing. A horse moves awkwardly, jarring up and down. Mona found her vagina being pounded against the saddle; it hurt her, and she winced with the surprise and the masochistic pleasure.
She adjusted herself in the saddle and moved her supple body in rhythm to the horse's cantering and she found her vagina being pressed against the saddle in a constant, rhythmic way that was ... nice.
It got to be real nice. It got to be a thrilling pleasure that mounted to an ecstasy that became too intense to bear.
Mona didn't like to think of horses and of their big penis that hung so obscenely ... yet she couldn't do anything but think of huge male horses.
To the early afternoon strollers in Donnymead Spa, Mona was a beautiful young girl sitting on a patio apparently deeply buried in a thick book, but she was just reading words and not remembering anything. Her mind was on horses.
Her instructor said she was a natural. He was an old cowboy with a face like leather, and he praised her to the skies and used her as a model for the class. And Mona knew that she was a good rider because she very quickly got the feel and sense of a horse. She felt their great strength and energy and realized she had to control it or it would dominate her. She also sensed their rhythm and adopted to it with an ease. Her cowboy instructor shook his head in gleeful admiration. "It's just like she was glued to the horse."
The trouble was, Mona had come to enjoying riding too much and was worried that people would see and know. The pleasure she received from riding made her feel guilty: she wasn't sure she should feel that way. She took to having rides in the early morning, and she rode all alone and far off.
She had learned to relax on a horse and let her pelvis and body rock with the rhythm of the horse. She had learned to relax so much that she could control her vaginal muscles. She could relax them so that her velvet vaginal lips could part enough so that her tiny clitoris was exposed. Then she would lean slightly forward, tilting her hips so that her lips and clitoris were pressed against the saddle. She could feel the tightness of the elastic band of her panties and it felt good against her wetly throbbing cuntal crevice.
She would ride off into the desert with the morning sun still casting long shadows and ride for hours with that rocking motion of the horse beneath her forcing her sensitized little clitoris down again and again until she felt like her loins were made of sweet sugar and every nerve in her tightly contained pussy was singing out for more ... and more ... and more.
Thus it was she did a wild and reckless thing. She was riding one morning, her panties moist from the insidious desire that was in her loins, when she looked around and found herself in a beautiful arroyo. She was far from the Spa. Riding up to the crest of a hill and looking around, she saw she was in the wilderness: on all sides, as far as she could see, was wild, barren desert tumbling on out in colored hues. She wasn't lost and wasn't afraid, only in awe as she sat and looked and realized she was alone.
Alone!
A thrill made her shiver in the heat and an idea came to her ... it came to her in totality as if she had thought it all out unconsciously. With a thrilling itching in her loins, she rode down the hill into the arroyo and dismounted.
She surprised herself how quickly and expertly she uncinched the saddle and got it and the blanket off. Looking around carefully once more, she realized she was quite alone, that if any rider should approach now, if any rider should come into sight, it would be a long time before they got to this particular arroyo. In fact, a rider could pass near it without ever seeing into it.
Feeling her heart pounding and an excitement she had never known before, she began to strip off her clothing.
Her blouse came first, revealing her ripe melony breasts barely contained by her brassiere. Mona didn't waste any time, stripping quickly, reaching behind and popping the clasp of her brassiere so that her proud young breasts leaped free in a quivering little dance. She folded her clothing neatly as she stripped, putting it in a pile.
She stood, naked to the waist, magnificent as her firmly ripened breasts felt the breeze, and her nipples hardened and tilted upward provocatively. Quickly, deftly, she unlaced her boots and kicked them off. She pulled off the heavy cotton stockings and stood in her bare feet as she unzipped her blue jeans and wiggled out of them.
She stood in the middle of the desert, a sensually stunning beauty, stark naked except for a pair of flimsy panties. She stripped out of them ... skinned out would be a better expression ... rolling them down over her full and firm hips and finally standing in the arroyo stark naked, feeling the desert air cool against her hotly throbbing vagina.
A wild elation came over her and she did something she had never done before, something she had been told was very wrong ... she touched her heated cunt.
She touched it with her fingers, feeling the softly full vaginal lips all wet and warm and she parted them, using the fingers of one hand and felt her lubricant excitement. The tip of one outstretched finger touched her pulsating little clitoris and it sprang to a lewd life as if it had been only waiting for her signal. She rubbed it softly and felt it becoming slippery with her moist excitement. Even the horse sensed or smelled her wanton excitement and stamped a hoof and whinnied as his long penis became even longer and thicker. Then with a lust-crazed grin, she gathered in the reins and leaped up on the horse's bare back, making it with ease and sitting, positioning herself and ... tentatively ... reaching down and softly, lewdly spreading her cuntal lips so that her moist clitoris and hot itching cunt rested on the horse hide.
A thrill of pure sensual wantonness seared through her! The horse's coarse hair scratched her and when the great beast moved, it only served to twist and part her wildly excited pussy even more. Her body was flooded with a sensation of lewd pleasure and a mad craving for more.
With a shout, she whipped the horse and she went galloping wildly up the arroyo, bouncing up and down with the rhythm of the horse. She rode up and down the arroyo as fast as she could, her proud young breasts bouncing freely, her nakedly sensual body quivering and bucking on the bareback. She felt herself being pushed to an ecstasy where she would be paralyzed by her orgasm and slip off the horse.
The horse! She had picked a stallion without really knowing why! Now, she could think of nothing but his great long penis!
She reined the sweating, panting beast in and dismounted in the shade of a giant cactus, near where her clothes were. She crouched down on her knees and saw the great hanging cock, pink and wet in its sheath, and her body trembled and all kinds of wild thoughts ran through her mind. Her mind and body were racked with all kinds of depraved ideas ... things she had never permitted herself to think before. She had already reached out to touch the panting beast's penis that was so huge and obscenely tempting when her better nature surfaced and she stood up, catching her breath. She was naked in the middle of a desert, and anyone could come along at any minute.
Hastily, she dressed, completely ashamed of herself now. She re-saddled the horse with a little difficulty, forgetting her lusting drive as she got involved. She silently chastised herself for doing such a foolish and lewd thing and she promised that ... no matter what ... she would never do it again.
She rode back to camp slowly: the horse was tired and she didn't want any more excitement. By the time she had taken a shower and changed and gotten out on the patio with a good book, it all seemed like it had happened to someone else. She would never ... ever ... do a thing like that again.
She sat reading War and Peace, looking cool and calm and tried hard not to think of horses. To help her, she concentrated on Al. When she came back from the ride, he was already in bed, fast asleep, a silly smile on his face. Mona felt Al had been acting unreasonable ever since they had gotten to the Spa. She hated to think it, but there were times when Al treated her like nothing more than a common whore. She wanted him to be romantic and not so ... demanding or ... rough.
Sometimes a simple word can trigger off all kinds of feelings and memories in us all. An odor can evoke a summer day, a song can recall an entire evening. So it was with Mona. Rough. The word made her think of the horse and riding like the wind through the arroyo and how she got to like the pain and the ... roughness.
A shudder of deep masochistic delight ran through her body, and she quickly thought of other things: like Al. Why was it that he annoyed her? She frowned, wondering if their marriage had a chance.
At the moment, there seemed so much unspoken, so much that was wrong that wasn't talked about. He was so crude and mumbled answers. She didn't know how late he had been out roaming the grounds the night before, but he was spending most of the day in bed. She wondered what she was going to do with him, how their marriage was going to work out. She sat, pretending to read a book, wondering about her marriage and wild horses.
Later that same day, after the sun went down, while most of the guests were at a chuck-wagon dinner, the world went topsy-turvy for Al Weathers. In a single second, his life changed and launched him on a course that was wild and desperate and would end in a savage orgy.
He got caught peeping.
He was easy for Harry Morgan to catch. Harry had worked his way through the day, calm and whistling, running his Spa with a casual whip-hand, taking care of those things that needed taking care of and biding his time until sunset.
Late in the afternoon, he interrupted his massaging to go and tell Mae to get lost for the rest of the day. Their relationship was such that he didn't need to go into any explanation for Mae: she understood and did what he asked without asking herself. Around five, she quit and went to then-cabana for a nap.
Harry had turned the steam and lights on in the steam room and even left a portable radio playing low. He went down to the cabana and poured himself a late-afternoon drink, stretching out in a big chair. He sipped his drink and looked at the big picture window and watched the setting sun shimmer on the horizon, a big blood-red ball slowly deflating. He sat in the gathering shadows while Mae sprawled asleep in their bedroom. He sat with an excellent view of the steam room and its approaches. He sat with a pair of binoculars in his lap, tinted for night-time use.
He didn't have to wait long. The sun had barely set when he saw someone hustling along a path that led to the steam room.
The way the figure moved told him it was up to something furtive. He watched until the figure reached the trash barrel before he put the glasses to his eyes and confirmed his suspicion.
There he was in the glasses, larger than life. Al Weathers, ex-running back, now down to Peeping Tom.
He snorted out a harsh laugh, put the glasses down, finished his drink and got up, taking his time. Al was one game that would wait. He sauntered down to the steam room and strolled around behind it. There he was, standing on tip-toe, trying like mad to see something. Harry grinned, his lips thin, his eyes holding his hardness. Al Weathers was going to be easy to deal with.
He walked up behind Al and cleared his throat. Al reacted like he had been shot. He stiffened all over and lost his balance and fell awkwardly off the barrel, landing unhurt in the sand. He looked up to see Harry Morgan towering over him. Harry looked down and nodded. "Evening, Mr.
Weathers."
Al couldn't say anything. He looked away and slowly got to his feet, brushing himself off.
Harry stood with his hands in his windbreaker pockets, cool and casual. "You in the habit of peeking in windows, Mr. Weathers?"
"No ... I was...." Al gestured toward the window and tried to think of something to say.
"How would you like to have a Peeping Tom charge lodged against you, Mr. Weathers?"
"I wouldn't."
"Know what the charge carries, Mr. Weathers?"
"Look ... please."
"Ninety days at the county work farm. Plus," Harry went on with a malicious grin, enjoying seeing Walters squirm, "Plus the social stigma of being known as some kind of nut. A freak, a weirdo, Mr. Weathers!"
"Look, give a guy a break."
Harry stepped closer, his voice low and calm. "A nut. Registered with the police. A sex pervert. Mr. Weathers." Harry's voice was soft and insistent, "Every time a little girl gets molested, every time there's some weird sex crime in your neighborhood, the police are going to come looking for you."
"Look, Jesus Christ, please give me a break."
"Every time. Know why? Because I'm going to turn you in. I run a decent place. I can't have weird nuts like you running around peering in windows. No sir. You're going to have to go. You are a Peeping Tom, Mr. Weathers."
Al was wild, near to tears. "Look, please, I'll never do it again."
"Shove it."
"No, please, I'll do anything."
The corner's of Harry's hard mouth twitched and he savored the moment as he stepped closer. "Anything?"
Al seized at the slim opportunity like a drowning man to a life raft. "Yeah, anything!"
Harry's voice got hard as he snarled, "What were you doing up there?"
"Huh? Nothing ... honest ... I ... was...." Again, he couldn't think of anything to say.
"You were peeking, weren't you?"
Al shoulders slumped. "Yeah."
"You were a Peeping Tom, weren't you?"
"Yeah."
Harry stepped even closer, shoving his tough tanned face right in front of Al's downcast gaze. "Why!?"
The question caught Al flatfooted. Why? He hadn't even asked himself why. Perhaps it was all too obvious to him. He looked up at Harry's hard face and swallowed.
"It's because of your wife, isn't it?"
Al started to deny it, to make up some sort of excuse but it suddenly didn't seem worth the effort. Harry Morgan was too much for him. Did he know about Mona? Dumbly, he nodded.
Harry's voice was low and soft. "She won't ... make love?"
Again, looking away, he nodded. "No sex? Nothing?"
Al took a deep breath and shook his head in shame and resignation. He looked down at the sand, his shoulders slumped, too defeated to raise his eyes to the other man. Harry seemed to know so much. He wondered if it was as obvious to others as it was to Morgan. He felt, at that moment, that-everyone knew, that all the whole Goddamned world knew he was married to a cold, nagging bitch. Before the night was through, everyone would know he was a Peeping Tom. It was a hell of a place to be in. Al suddenly wanted Harry to turn him in, to get the whole thing over with.
"Come with me." Harry's voice was curt and commanding as he turned away and started walking across the Spa. Shamefully, Al followed along, his head hanging. Without a word or look, they headed for Harry and Mae's cabana. Al assumed Harry was going to call the police from his home.
He followed Harry into the house, and saw Mae sitting sprawled on a couch with a drink in her hand. She was wearing tight pants that showed off the curves of her legs and a blouse that was low cut and exposed twin orbs that made a firm deep cleavage. Harry nodded over his shoulder. "There's your peeping pervert. Caught him in the act."
Mae pouted and raised her glass in a silent toast. "Sorry, fella."
Harry took off his windbreaker, a half-smile on his face. His voice was calm and low as he said, "You're a lilly-livered coward."
Stung by the words, Al clenched his fists and looked around defiantly. All right, so he had done something he was ashamed of, and so what if Mona was a bitch? That didn't give anybody the right to call him a coward.
Both-Harry and Mae broke out in spontaneous laughter at his belligerent stance. Harry waved a hand disgustedly. "Hell, I'm not going to fight you! I didn't mean that kind of coward."
Their attitude bewildered him and he stood uncertain for a moment.
Harry went on. "I meant you were a moral and social coward. Like ... you fuck around with my wife, yet you can't make it with your own wife. Look, I'll prove what a moral coward you are. I'll make you a proposition and I bet you turn it down. You want me to forget the whole peeping incident?"
Harry and Mae were changing pace on him so quickly and unexpectedly that he felt numb, yet he jumped at the chance. "Yeah."
"What are you willing to do?" Harry's face was cunning and hard.
Al only hesitated a moment before he said, his voice going hoarse...."Anything."
Harry and Mae exchanged a little grin. Mae patted the couch next to her and said, "Sit down, relax and listen."
"Sit down," Harry echoed, "And listen. Don't interrupt. I'm going to tell you things about yourself and ... Mona, isn't it?"
Numbly, Al sat down and nodded up to big Harry towering over him as he wondered: what kind of people are they?
He was soon to find out.