Aunt Ann's Pony Life Ch. 06

I drove home, and Aunt Ann sat silent in the passenger seat. It was clear that she wasn't really all of the way "back," as Andi had put it. Her eyes were unfocused and my attempts at conversation were met with monosyllables.

It felt like one of those times, though, that an attempt to "fix" things would be counterproductive. She needed the quiet, so I didn't even turn on the radio.

Back at the house, she didn't move when I parked in the garage. So I went around the truck, opened the door, and helped her out.

The Pony Milk was, pretty obviously, not fully neutralized. Her nose was still running and I could see her swallowing more or less constantly as her overstimulated salivary glands stayed busy. There was a sheen of sweat on her face too. And although her eyes did meet mine, there was a, well, a dullness there that, on some weird level, I liked.

Okay, I won't deny it. I liked the docility she had shown all day, so completely different from her normal "large and in charge" persona.

I walked her through the kitchen to the bedroom, my hand on her arm, guiding, yes, but not just guiding her. Supporting her as I might guide a frail, 90-year-old woman.

In the bedroom, she turned, the first truly self-directed movement I had seen since she took that first drink of Pony Milk early this morning. She took my hands in hers and I saw tears overflow her eyes joining the clear mucus where her nose still ran.

"David," she said, obviously concentrating hard to stay focused, her forehead lined with a frown, her eyes flicking back and forth as she switched from one of my eyes to the other, "if you find me disgusting and want to leave, I understand. I just hope you understand, this is something I need."

And there it was again. I "sprang erect."

I laid my palms lightly on her cheeks, enjoying the slight sweat dampness there and the sweat wetness in her hair where my fingers were in it.

"I am," I said, choosing my words carefully and wanting to be as clear as I possibly could. Something told me this was a turning point in our lives and I wondered how many times she had this conversation before. I hoped I was her first time.

"I am," I said, "the precise, mathematical, opposite of disgusted."

Her reaction almost did me in. She relaxed so completely that her mouth opened slightly and drool joined the mucus hanging from her chin.

"What we did today was so natural, so perfect, I can't imagine life without it," I said, "and you were so beautiful, so happy, so damn perfect I would never try to take that away from you."

I kissed her, a slick, salty kiss.

"I am honored that you chose me to be your Handler," I said, wanting to work that lifestyle-specific language into what I was saying, "and I can't wait for the next time I can join in your natural life."

As her emotions claimed her I was afraid she was slipping back into Dakota. She was crying now, openly, not bawling but crying in big gasps. Her nose and mouth were running freely and sweat from her forehead joined the mucus and drool on her chin and I could see a sheen of sweat on her shoulders.

I wrapped her in my arms, caressing her back sweat wet even through the coarse material of her shift, and tried to talk her back. I wasn't sure if I was doing the right thing, but it seemed natural.

"Easy, easy," I said softly and it struck me that this would be the same tone I might use to calm Dakota, "stay with me Aunt Ann," I went on, making sure to use her name, "take it easy, we're home and I'm not leaving."

Her eyes cleared and she grinned.

Suddenly I was on my back, and she was at my belt. Damn, she was good. I hadn't seen the sudden movement coming.

But I didn't fight for my virtue either.

It was interesting watching her. She was bent over, concentrating on my belt and zipper, and strings of mucus and drool were wetting the thigh of my jeans. And my damn erection hurt the way it was still bound up but I didn't want to break her mood and help.

She got the belt undone, struggled a bit with the button, her fingers were trembling, and I found the loss of her normal control endearing. She was breathing in harsh little pants.

She got everything unbuttoned and unzipped and then yanked, not pulled or stripped, she YANKED my pants off of me and then actually tore my shirt getting it off of me.

It wasn't really a smile, more a feral snarl as she pulled the coarse-material shift over her head.

She climbed up and just mounted me, impaling herself on my erection with a satisfied smile.

She leaned forward, supporting herself on her arms, sweat, and tears dripping onto my face. Her grin got, if anything, more feral as she leaned forward, those thick strands of mucus and drool hanging closer and closer to my face. And I wanted to taste it.

I thought I saw a hint of a true smile as I opened my mouth.

Her mucus and thick saliva had the salty taste I expected but a hint of a bitter aftertaste, something I assumed must be from the Pony Milk still in her system.

I could tell she liked it and I slurped, noisily, partly for effect but partly because I liked it.

She came, suddenly and spectacularly, with a great torrent of release making me think it was possible she had lost bladder control. She threw her head back and her mouth was open in a silent hissed scream of ecstasy and snot flew as her head whipped back and forth. She came like that four separate times, each one as powerful as the last before she settled onto me, finally relaxing.

I could feel the warm slick wetness as she nuzzled my cheek and my neck. And I liked it.

My hips started rocking, thrusting, almost involuntarily, and she whispered, her voice thick, almost bubbly, "No, baby, stay with me."

It took all of my control to hold off as she started again. I could feel her excitement building with the tension in her body, and then as she pushed back up, offering me the fluids of her body, her eyes growing big and focused as I opened my mouth again. The kiss was slick and wet and delicious.

I held off through four of those waves until she was exhausted.

The final time, as she lay on me, surrounding me, holding me inside of her, she didn't stop me when my hips started thrusting.

My ejaculation was powerful, leaving me gasping with an ache in my balls and an answering ache deep in my belly, low, something I assumed was part of my prostate contracting in my release.

I had to push her off of me, she was already asleep.

Her snoring, loud and bubbly, made sleep an impossibility for now.

But I didn't mind. I propped my chin onto my palm and watched her sleep. The residual drugs still had her. With each breath she blew snot bubbles that popped, adding to the general mess on the bottom of her face. She was drooling, her mouth overflowing, and she'd cough once in a while, spewing thick saliva.

I thought she was absolutely gorgeous.

And as I looked at her I realized something that surprised me. I wanted the animal back. I wanted Dakota. I wanted her back in the training barn in full tack, to correct her steps, to help her become the perfect Pony she could be with proper training.

Thinking about it made me hard again so I climbed up and fucked her. This wasn't making love in any serious sense of that term. This was raw animal fucking, pure lust, and the fact that she was asleep somehow added to my excitement. But this was my second time in just a few minutes so I had to work hard. By the time I came, I was panting and sweating as hard as she had and I wasn't even under the influence of drugs.

Finished, I latched onto her nipple, while she still slept, and drifted off.

They were good dreams.