Chapter 3
They lay locked in each other's arms upon the grass while their breathing quieted, their heartbeats slowed to normal, after their storm of passion had worn itself out. Their bodies remained coupled until Bob's cock finally wilted completely and slipped free of the sweet grip of Gloria's loving cunt. As she felt him slipping away from her, she murmured protestingly, "Don't leave me, lover!"
Bob moved his head, bringing his lips to hers, and kissed her with more tenderness than passion. He soothed, "All good things must come to an end in order to make room for even more good things, sweetheart."
She brought a finger up and touched his lips, a wondering look in her eyes. "I think I love you," she told him.
Bob smiled. "I hope so."
She shook her head, protesting, "I mean, like special. Like forever. Like I'd ought to love my husband."
"Like you will love your husband," Bob chuckled quietly. "You'll see."
Again she shook her head. "I don't think it's possible. I've found something with you-."
Bob interrupted, "Something you'll find with him, too, now that you're no longer afraid of it. It's not me you're really feeling all that love for. It's that good fuck you've just enjoyed."
She drew her head away from him, her expression one of outraged protest. "Now you're being awful!"
"Only telling you facts, little sweetie," Bob murmured, smiling. "It's a physical reaction, and human females aren't the only ones who experience it."
"No?"
"No. You should see some mares after a stud horse gives them a good fucking."
"See them what?"
"React, what else? They love him so for that good fucking he's just given them, they can't stand to let any other mare get near him. They'll run themselves ragged trying to keep all the others away. But let another stud horse come along who's horse enough to run off that first stud. Let that second stud take over and give her another good fucking. That mare'll fall just as head-over-heels in love with him as she was with the first one. So you see what she really loved both times wasn't the stud horse at all; it was that good fucking he'd given her."
"And you think I'm just like that fickle mare?"
"All women are, if you call that being fickle. Actually it's only a natural reaction after any intelligent female has just enjoyed a good fucking. But it does wear off; that's another reason it can't realistically be called love."
Fifteen miles from the secluded hot springs pool, the trail riding group were discussing the ways of horseflesh, too. Particularly that penchant of the species for going lame at the most inopportune times.
The horse Mario Richards was riding had just pulled up lame. What all the others didn't know was that it had been no accident. Mario had taken one look at big, handsome, pro football player Ransom Farnsworth and had a complete transformation of general attitude, changing from her usually bitchy self into the vivaciously light-hearted life of the party. Mario had once announced at a Hollywood party that getting hot pants for a new man had a more sweetening effect on a girl's disposition than the most high-priced analyst ever could equal.
So the first time the trail riders stopped, after leaving the ranch corrals, Mario pulled a long hair from her horse's tail and looped it around her mount's left ankle tightly and tied it fast. It was a trick a Hollywood wrangler had showed her once while Brad, her movie hero husband, was working on location making a Western. It restricted the circulation of blood in the area sufficiently to create a temporary lameness.
When her horse began limping, a little later, Mario naturally took pains to dismount and get rid of the cause before the dude wrangler or Alice Hudson rode back to inspect the horse's foot. By that time she felt certain her gay chatter and the eyes she'd been giving handsome young Ransom had thoroughly aroused his male appetite for sexual adventure. He lived up to her expectations completely, gallantly volunteering to cut his trail ride short and escort her back to the ranchhouse while the others went ahead.
Brad Richards hailed Ransom's gesture as evidence of true humanitarian instincts, enormously relieved that he didn't have to volunteer, thus be forced to temporarily interrupt his pursuit of their host's wife. Alice Hudson was one of the few women Brad ever had encountered and desired who had resisted his best efforts to lay her. He was determined that before his stay at the ranch ended this time he was going to find the combination that would open her sweet pussy to him.
Pete and Tina Edwards joined Brad's applause of Ransom's offer, for reasons of their own. This was their fifth season at the ranch and they'd come to consider Bob and Alice Hudson as close friends. But Bob and Alice were the only couple numbered among their close friends with whom Pete and Tina had never swapped. This year they'd come to the ranch determined to change all that. This ride today into secluded mountain backcountry might give Pete the chance they hoped for to get Alice alone and seduce her.
Famed fashion designer Helene Delon and her swishy husband, Jamison, applauded Ransom too. Helene, because it removed the threat of Brad Richards having to leave the group to accompany his wife back to the ranch. Helene's whole reason for ever coming to a dude ranch, of all places, was her hope that here she'd finally be able to get a chance to screw the handsome movie star. Everywhere else she'd ever encountered him, there always had been too many younger beauties flocking around him.
Fabulously wealthy Rene Dixson, Boston society matron and blueblood, was enthusiastic in her applause too, relieved that the ride wouldn't have to be cut short and with it the chance she hoped for to get much better acquainted with Pete Edwards. Because he was fully aware of her interest in Pete, Rene's young airline president and board chairman husband, Maynord Dixson, applauded too; pictures of old Rene screwing Pete might not only buy him a divorce but financial freedom too, eliminating any necessity of ever repaying the millions Rene had invested in his name in his growing airline. Maynord was eager to give her all the rope she wanted.
Not that old Rene wasn't a good piece of ass; she really was. Years ago her gynecologist put her on estrogen replacement therapy, so the tissues of her cunt never had become dry and lost their warm elasticity. Actually the rest of her body was just about as young as her cunt was; she'd spent thousands on plastic surgery to eliminate wrinkles and more thousands in beauty salons. But she had the damned attitude that regardless of what else a man had on his schedule, he should drop everything and run to her the instant she felt a twinge of loneliness. When a man was in the midst of crucial negotiations about the purchase of costly new planes, or with his pilots' union or something equally vital to his airline's future, she had time after time proved to be damned maddening with her petty personal demands. Besides that, she'd made it emphatically clear that not one more dollar was going to be diverted from her other investments into his airline. Fortunately his operation had been snowballed to the point where he didn't really need any more of her money. So why continue to put up with the aggravation her unreasonable demands upon him created? Like this whim she'd gotten about wanting to spend two weeks roughing it, as she'd called it, on a dude ranch when Maynord felt he'd really ought to have his nose to the grindstone at the office. But now he had hope that something good might come from the wasted time, after all.
Running the winning touchdown in a hotly contested football game never had won more enthusiastic approval for big Ransom Farnsworth than the ovation he received as he turned his horse back down the trail with Mario Richards. He chuckled as he waved acknowledgement, wondering how many would be cheering him if they knew of the plans he had in mind for beautiful Mario before they got back to the ranch. Fucking the wife of one of the screen's greatest lovers ought to make quite a story to tell his locker room buddies. Besides that, it would relieve the nut ache created by his damned bride's insane refusal to consummate their wedding. Gloria's behavior had him thoroughly bewildered. He'd even known thoughts, however fleeting, of self-doubts. But he felt certain a good piece of ass was all he needed to completely restore his usually unshakable male equilibrium.
A mile down the trail, after he and Mario parted company with the main party, Ransom decided the time had come to make his move. Ever since they'd ridden out of sight of the others, Mario had been holding hands with him and swinging her shoulders when there was no excuse for doing it except to make her big tits bounce. If he'd ever seen a dame asking to be fucked, she'd been asking. So he'd accommodate her without wasting any more time, and do it gratefully; didn't her response prove beyond all doubt that whatever was wrong between him and his bride was all Gloria's fault?
"Why don't we let your horse rest that lame foot?" Ransom suggested, reining his horse off the trail. Mario nodded and followed. About one-hundred yards off the trail they came upon a secluded glade with lush grass to keep the horses occupied, perfect for Ransom's purposes.
He dismounted with a leap, his best imitation of the movie cowboys he'd seen. Like a starving man rushing to a feast, he rushed around his horse and raised his arms toward Mario. With a little cry of delight, she leaned toward him, ready to go into his arms.
But instead of waiting for her to come freely, Ransom grabbed her, his big hands rough and demanding, and almost dragged her down from the saddle. Before her feet touched the ground, her eager welcome for him had turned to furious resistance.
Mario twisted free of Ransom's grasping hands like a fumbled ball. She wheeled from him, spotted a length of wood about baseball bat-size and grabbed it. As Ransom lunged after her, she wheeled back to him, swinging the club. She caught him along one side of the head with a blow that dropped him. She'd delivered the blow as expertly as she served tennis balls, and with the same competitive gusto.
Ransom rolled slowly and sat up groggily. His eyes suddenly came into focus again, fixed upon Mario. With a bellow he started to gather himself for a lunge, then jerked back as she sent the end of the club sizzling past the tip of his nose.
Before he could make another move, she warned, "Damn you, I'll put a dent in that granite skull of yours that won't come out, if that's what it takes to get your jackass attention."
"Hell, lady, those tits of yours got my attention a long time ago, bouncing around the way you make them do without any bra cramping their style," Ransom protested. "I only aimed to give you what you know damned well you've been asking for."
"Like hell!" Mario exclaimed. "I've never asked any moron minded jackoff to rape me, ever! Rape is something I can do without, thank you. A warm-hearted, mutually enjoyable fucking is something entirely different. Dig?"
Ransom shook his head, looking confused.
"You don't make no sense at all, you prickteasing bitch!"
"Like hell I don't, you over-grown, snot-nosed brat," she snapped. "There's one hell of a lot more to being a great lover than there is to being a great football player, junior!"
"The hell you say?"
She made a threatening move with the club, warning, "Keep you smart mouth shut and your dumb ears open, for a change; you might learn something."
"Like what?"
"For openers, like you don't make love like you were throwing a tackle at an enemy ball carrier."
"I've never had no complaints before," Ransom declared, but even in his own ears his voice didn't sound quite convincing.
"How many girls ever came back for a return bout with you?" Mario suggested. "Damned few, if any. Right?"
Ransom couldn't meet her knowing eyes. He looked away, feeling strangely cowed, strangely ashamed. How did she know every romance he'd ever had abruptly ended after he fucked the girl the very first time? Was he carrying some kind of billboard around with him that he alone didn't know about? Was that why Gloria had fled from him like she had instead of welcoming him like a man's bride was supposed to? What the hell kind of a curse did he have on him, anyhow?
Finally he grudgingly asked, "So what the hell am I doing wrong?"
"You mean you can't figure that out from what I've already told you, stupid?" Mario snapped, some of her usual bitchiness beginning to come out.
"Okay, so I'm stupid!" Ransom snapped right back. "Then draw me a diagram, like my football coaches draw to illustrate new plays. Show me what I've been doing wrong."
"This is ridiculous!" Mario exclaimed. "How in the hell did I ever get hot pants for anyone as thickheaded as you?" Her voice changed, mocking him," Draw me a diagram!"
"Well-?" Ransom persisted.
She stood looking down at him, studying him through angry eyes for a long moment. Finally she shook her head, declaring, "I ought to have my head examined. But you are a beautiful hunk of male muscle, even if there isn't any brain in it."
"So what else is new?" Ransom demanded.
Mario's attitude softened slightly. "Like I told you before, buster, your idea of making love is nothing but rape! You shouldn't make love like you play football."
"All right, already! You've said that," Ransom protested. "So how does a real lover go about it?"
"He woos a woman ... he doesn't assault her. Only a very small percentage of women, and they're sick in the damned head, want a man to physically overpower them. A healthy woman wants to be treated greatly, lovingly, and patiently. She's no big, dumb cow, just waiting, ready and eager for some thickheaded bull to shove the cock to her. She's a human being. She wants to be respected as much as any man wants to be respected. So whenever she fucks a man, she wants it to be a matter of her fucking him as much as he fucks her. She wants his fucking her to be a matter of something she wants him to do, never a matter of something he's forced her to let him do. No woman ever wants to be raped, unless she's got a problem for a damned good psychiatrist. Is that diagram clear enough for you to read it?"
"You don't deny, then, that you've been giving me the come-on all morning?" Ransom demanded.
"Hell yes, I've been giving you the come-on, you muscle-head!" Mario snapped. "I had hot pants for you so bad I was nearly ready to come on the saddle, just from the movements of that horse under me. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't do my damnedest to cave-in that bonehead of yours before I'd let you rape me. I'm no punching bag for stiff pricks; I've got an ego, too, damn you. Just because I get hot pants for you, or any other man, never changes that. I still want my rights as another human to be respected, even while I'm being fucked. In fact, I especially want my rights as a human being to be respected while I'm being fucked; more than at any other time. Because if I'm going to get fucked, I want it to be made good for me. That's what I want you thinking about; making it good for me. Get it?"