She stared at her husband for a moment, recalling the way he'd described what would happen if she gave Smokey a chance to mount her. The fact that he'd been accurate was of no importance; the loving attention to detail, though, suggested he might have the same voyeuristic thing about watching such an act as Danny had shown.
"Well…" She felt confused and a little embarrassed. It would be worth the embarrassment if she could bring him as much pleasure as she thought she could. "Well, he spends about eighty percent of his time shuffling around with a hard-on, honey. He's frustrated as hell, and you know how unlikely we are to find anyone who'll let us breed him to their mare. He's just too damn little!"
Art nodded. "You can hardly call that a disease, though. What the hell could anyone do for him?"
She stared into space, pretending to be daydreaming. "I'm not sure. You remember telling me how wrong I was when I said you made love like an animal? You talked about Smokey then."
Art frowned, then looked up sharply. "About how Smokey would put it to a woman?"
"Yes."
"Hell, that was pure fiction. I wanted to shock you."
She smiled shyly. "I know. But I was just wondering. You suppose if he were coaxed right he might…?"
"Helen!" There was a note of wild, incredulous hope in her husband's voice. "Helen! You'd be willing to…? You'd try that?!"
"For you, honey. If you thought you'd find it exciting."
"Jesus Christ! Honey, when?"
"When would you like me to try?"
"Baby… Don't get mad, but how about now?"
She pretended to hesitate. "All right."
"You going to dress?"
"What for? So I can get undressed down there?"
"Oh, shit! Let's go!"
They ran, hand in hand, to the corral. Smokey was restless, and the moonlight shone on his great hard-on. Helen was totally confident the little donkey had mounted Olga at least once during the evening. He was becoming accustomed to human mates; he ought to board her for Art without urging. She climbed over the fence, Art close behind.
"The table?" he asked.
"I don't think so." She pretended to be uncertain and doubtful. "Being his first time, shouldn't we make it as natural as possible for him?"
"Well, that would be better, of course."
"Maybe if I get in the right position and back under him he'll get the idea."
"Holy Jesus!" Art breathed hard. "You're right. You've got a hell of a lot more guts than I knew!"
Helen dropped to all fours, walking awkwardly on hands and feet, her legs widely spread. She sidled under the donkey, bending her knees just enough to maneuver her pussy against the point of Smokey's cock. That hard head danced over her labia and settled at the rim of her cunt, and she pushed back upon it. She saw Smokey heave his forefeet into the air and waited breathlessly until he planted them on her back. To her relief, he was perfectly gentle, the touch of his hooves incredibly light. But his hindquarters made up for that restraint. He hammered his huge cock home in her with brutal blows, and she sagged with sick desire for his jism.
"Honey? Art…!"
"What?"
"Reach under me, honey. Get hold of my breasts. Do you know how to milk?"
"Hell, yes! But…?"
"Just get right in front of me. On your knees. Milk me, baby. Please! Milk my tits while Smokey fucks me."
"Oh, shit! What a fantastic broad! Okay!"
Art knelt before her. She gulped his cockhead into her mouth and sucked desperately while he milked her throbbing nipples and Smokey pumped his donkey-cock into her cunt. A wave of sheer bliss welled in her. There's times, she thought. There's times when everything's in the right place!