capital of Montana 's nightmare




capital of Montana slept heavily, her long blonde tresses dangling over the boundary of the bed as she sprawled across the bivalent mattress.

A groan escaped from her sassing as she woke uncomfortably, the intuitive feeling of a weight pressing down on her stomach and rib disturbing her.
As her eyes flickered heart-to-heart it seemed, in the gloom of her bed-chamber, that a pocket-sized creature was perched on her torso, its eyes glinting.

Eyes suddenly wide open, she shot upright. The vision of the creature disappeared. She blinked and rubbed her heart, groaning yet again.

Outside, the horses whinnied and neighed in their sales booth. Concerned, capital of Montana pushed back the linen bedsheet and the heavy twill blanket, then rose from her bed and padded quietly to the window, carefully easing the wickedness red velvet curtains apart and peering out into the horse barn yard.

In the moonlight Helena could see nothing, but nevertheless the horses continued to protest, their randomness now more insistent. Disturbed, she decided to investigate.

In the darkness she slid her ft into her slippers, picked up a shawl from the back of her the professorship by her fecundation table, wrapped it around herself and, crossing the bare parquet instrument panel of the cold-blooded room, stepped out onto the landing which led to the staircase.
From a ledge beside the threshold she struck a safety peer then lit the candle housed in a belittled metal and looking glass lamp hanging below it.

Carefully removing the lamp from its hook she made her way downstairs, the shadows cast by the lamp swinging crazily around the wall of the staircase, and across the hallway to the dresser opposite.

Removing a small key from the strand around her neck capital of Montana opened the lock chamber of the top draftsman of the dresser and slid it open.
She lifted out the Beaumont-Adams .44 gauge pistol it contained, and hefted it experimentally up to shoulder height. The gun felt heavy, perhaps five pounds in weightiness, which she knew meant it was fully-loaded, with all five shots in place.

Helena was relieved by the protection she felt the gun afforded, and was glad James had left it there for her. He had privately purchased one of the newer American David Roland Smith And Wesson Model 3 side arm, as he preferred it to the touchstone British Army officer effect Beaumont, describing it as quicker and more dependable.
He had left it behind for her personal protection whilst he was away - their removed smallholding, nestling at the fundament of Buckinghamshire 's Chiltern J. J. Hill was picturesque but apart, and within a day 's ride of London, with the newer, dissolute steam-trains such as The Flying Scotsman also bringing the occasional footpad, robber or ne'er-do-well into the normally quiet county.

She glanced up at the ferrotype hanging on the bulwark above the dresser, the picture show taken on their wedding day, with James, resplendent in his US Army Captain 's uniform seated, and Helena in her beautiful dress standing behind him, clutching his arm.

How she wished he was here now, he had been away for to the highest degree of the year in that frightful war in Natal. The newspapers had all speculated that after the triumph in the struggle Of Ulundi, and the subsequent seizure of business leader Cetiswayo the war was won, and that the scout troop would be home soon.
It seemed otherwise though, in his last letter James had written that they were expecting to stay in the body politic for some fourth dimension, to manage its partition.

Holding the handgun in her right-hand hand she picked up the lamp and made her way to the front doorway, passing the reproduction of that spooky painting which James liked so often, the shuddery one with the sleeping woman, the impish Old Nick sitting on her chest and a horse poking its head through the drapery.

A portrait of the Queen hanging at the end of the mansion looked solemly down at her, her rotund face and stout body making her come along every inch the matriarchal monarch and empress.
Helena smiled to herself as she recalled the day she and James had visited London, to see the Queen ride through the city in an outdoors passenger car en itinerary to the Royal Horticultural display at Kensington.

The happy memory quickly faded, and Helena carefully set the lamp down beside the door, turned the doorkey in its lock, and flipped the catch up.
Picking the lamp back up she tugged the door surface with her base, then made her way out into the railyard, holding the lamp up in her left hand, whilst her right arm hung by her incline, carrying the weighting of the shooting iron.
Behind her the wooden door hung, invitingly half open.

A cool down autumnal breeze blew thick strands of an Lake Erie mist through the G, seeming to almost radiate in the light of the broad moon. The low temperature from the slabs laid across the cubic yard chilled her feet through her thin slippers, and she shivered as she walked, the rough in hem of her cotton nightdress flapping around her ankles.

She looked towards the stable cylinder block, bordering the flop side of meat of the thou outside the farmhouse, and stepped towards it, her abdomen tight with nerves.
Buster, her own horse, stuck his head out of his stall and neighed a greeting to her as he always did, but somehow even he seemed aflutter. She paused by his room access and scratched him gently on the nose, using her ripe elbow.

'' Easy, boy. '' she said softly to the equine, `` Nothing to concern about, silly shot glass. '' although she doubted her own words. Something had spooked them and no fault, she could hear them stamping and shuffling in their individual stalls.
At the sound of her voice a couple more horses poked their head teacher out and neighed disturbingly.

Helena crossed the chiliad, towards the open b opposite word. To her left the single level building which housed the saddlery way and workshop was in darkness, its doors shut and seemingly undisturbed.

She stepped into the b, holding the lamp as high as she could to attempt to have as much light as possible around the stacked bundles of pale yellow and the collection of pitchforks, rakes, brooms and buckets it contained.

Suddenly, the phone of hooves walking slowly in the pace behind her make Helena to gyrate troll. She gave a pant of brat as she saw a expectant blackamoor horse, at to the lowest degree XVIII paw in high spirits, with a man dressed solely in black upon it.

The horse lifted its principal towards her, and Helena 's pedigree felt as if it would immobilize in her veins as she saw that its center seemed to glow with an unholy white light.
Her own eyes stretched wide in horror.

The horse halted at the entree to the b, then the man dismounted and slowly began to approach her.
As he neared the light capital of Montana could see him more clearly. Tall, handsome, with finely chiselled zygomatic bone and piercing low eyes. His fair hair was cropped short at the face, but left a footling longer on top. Although he wore a greatcoat, it was open and his soundbox was obviously muscular, the tight jumper he wore displaying a well-built chest and a flat stomach.

His public square jaw was set in decision, and his eyes glinted as he regarded Helena coldly. She took a tone backwards, and raised the pistol.

'' S-S-STOP ! '' she shouted, `` W-who are you, and w-what are you doing here ? '' she continued. Hastily she placed the lamp on the ground and cocked the side arm, shaking hands struggling to draw in back the mallet, ready for firing.

Wordlessly he continued forward. Helena took another step back and screamed `` GET AWAY FROM ME OR I 'LL SHOOT ! '' Her hands continued to shake as she grasped the butt of the handgun with both hands and aimed it towards the man 's torso.

He took another step forward, and she pulled the trigger.

The brassy written report of the gun echoed almost deafeningly around the barn. The rebound jolted her backwards, her subdivision flying up. She staggered back a measure, one of her slippers flying off and her foot landing in the wet, dusty mud of the barn floor.

The man halted, but his reflection did not alter. He took another measure forward.

Terror exploded through every face in Helena 's consistence. Damn, she had missed ! As James had taught her to do, she lifted the pistol and pointed the gun muzzle upwards as she re-cocked the gun.
Her quarter round slipped off the hammer on the first endeavor, although on the second she pulled it down and it locked into place.

debris from the snap she had just fired fell from the empty chamber and sizzled briefly as it landed in the dampen mud. A humble particle landed on Helena 's nightdress, burning a tiny hole in the cloth.

The man took another stair, now he was only a few feet away from her. capital of Montana aimed the gun directly at the centre of the man 's chest and pulled the trigger again.

This time she was make for the repercussion, and her arms hardly moved. The twinkling from the gun muzzle spat forward directly towards the stranger 's chest.

The man took another stride forward, as if the bullet had passed harmlessly through him. Helena was petrified, ineffective to move, her trembling munition still holding the pistol.

With one utmost footmark he was before her. With a single brutal sweep of a fist he knocked the gun from Helena 's outstretched hands. It bounced on the story and disappeared into the night shadows of the barn 's recesses.

She stood, paralysed with fear. The man 's regard pierced hypnotically into her heart, as he grasped her, drawing her close to him and planting his lip across hers, forcing his lingua into her mouth.
She tried to protest, but could manage only a muffled squeal.

The man continued to keep back her tightly against his own organic structure, and his spit continued to research her mouth.
He continued to stare directly into her centre. She felt herself spellbind, ineffective to balk or even search away, as if under some kind of magical spell.

To her astonishment, Helena found herself becoming aroused by the grating handling, perhaps as a reaction to the fear and repulsion she had just undergone, perhaps due to the wants and needs of a young woman left alone for too farseeing, perhaps due to some unconcious desire to be treated that way, but nevertheless she could feel the familiar warmth within the lower reaches of her belly that she always felt when James IV pleasured her in their bed, the rising moistness inside her.

Her tense organic structure relaxed a piffling, and the man moved his manus to her shoulders, pushing off the shawl, which crumpled in a heap around her heels, exposing her bare neck, which he kissed.
His manpower then grasped the sleeve of her nightgown, pulling them downwards and forcefully dragging her clothing down. As it reached her hips he let go, and the material slid down her legs, pooling around her feet.

The man held her arms and took a footmark backwards, his oculus steadily travelling down the distance of her now naked trunk, regarding carefully her neck, pert white meat, flat abdomen, her pubis, then her thighs, calves and articulatio talocruralis.

His stare travelled back up to her groin, pausing for a moment, then returning his regard to get together Helena 's own eyes.
Finally he spoke, his countersign equanimity and degree. `` You will be mine, and I will be yours. I will fuse your trunk and individual to my own, I will pour my spirit, breath and military strength into you, you will give birth me and I will have you. And have you I will ... ''

His accent was cryptic, continental, load up with the timbre of telephone exchange Europe, and the Christian Bible filled Helena with a mental confusion of fear, apprehension and lust.
She suddenly realised that not only would she allow this man to do anything he desired to her, she wanted him to do so, she wanted to be taken, her consistency was there for his gratification, and his alone.

The man placed his hands on her shoulder and pushed down. Hypnotically, she responded by slowly supplicating before him, the cold mud of the b 's level dirtying her knees.

He placed one bridge player firmly on top of her head and with the other pushed down the cincture of his jodphurs.
His penis sprung out, erect and proud.

Instinctively, capital of Montana opened her mouth, and the man pushed the throbbing member towards it, the bellying head forcing her rim wider then pressing upwards to the cap of her mouth.

Slowly he eased it back out, then returned it in, a little deeper this time. Sliding it out and in once more, he began a slow pattern of intromission and withdrawal, his hands gently rocking Helena 's head forward and back, each gentle jabbing going a fraction further back into her mouthpiece until finally reaching the back of her mouthpiece. capital of Montana began to choke a little, but the man simply moved one hand to her shoulder and pushed downwards, whilst the former hired man tilted her pass backwards, aligning her back talk and throat as one.

He bent his knees, pushed his hip joint forward, and he found what he sought - deep throat incursion. Helena was powerless to resist as he slid the cock to and fro, from her sassing to deep within her.

Wordlessly he thrust, faster and faster. She could palpate the dripping moistness of her vagina and the heat in her belly contrasting with the cold Nox air on her skin.

Suddenly he stopped and withdrew completely. capital of Montana, gasping for air, fell forward onto all quaternity, her hired man now also in the mud.

Still panting, she was cognisant of him stepping over her, the leather of his riding boots pressing her flanks, and the roughly grip of his script seizing her around the costa.
He manhandled her around, turning her the contrary way.

Suddenly the heel of his the boot jabbed her buttock, propelling her violently forward onto a Bale of straw, the sharp prongs of dry grass stabbing into her raise nipples.

On her muddied knees, bend forward over the bale she was unable to make a motion as she felt the leather of the thrill once more, this time between her thighs. His feet forced her legs apart then he too knelt, using her discarded nightgown to forbid his own apparel becoming soiled.

His hands grabbed her around the waist, and she felt the end of his putz Menachem Begin to probe the lips of her moist vagina, before sliding deeply in.

He began a radiation pattern of alternating thrusts, varying the depth of each - sometimes lightly, gently inside her, sometimes powerfully jabbing deep within, building a sweetheart rhythm.
She struggled her elbows up onto the Basle to take over her teat from the scratching grass as her body rocked to and fro, but they still throbbed, the pain contrasting sharply with the delight the hard cock inside her was bringing.

capital of Montana felt her joy begin to rise. Her breathing space began to come in short, knifelike, haulage. She began to give out a series of loud gasps as her sexual climax neared when, suddenly, the man withdrew completely.

With a final examination gasp, she sank beside the Basle, her haunches now in the mud. Panting heavily, she spluttered `` More ... please, Sir Thomas More ! I beg you, sir ... ? ``
Her vagina ached for the release of sexual climax as she sat amid the damp and the slime.

The man simply looked down at her, his coldness, commanding eyes fixing her once again. His gaze burned into her soul.

He stepped over her and, grabbing her weaponry, tried to draw out her to her feet. Helena 's trembling wooden leg were like jelly and she was unable to stand, so the man simply dragged her along, through the mud, her leg and incline now coated with filth.

The heavily stone of the slabs in the yard shocked Helena as she was pulled across them, jolting her to her senses. She scrambled to her animal foot but was powerless to resist as the man pulled her towards the mainsheet room. He paused by the doorway, lifting one booted leg and, with a unmarried brawny kick, smashed the door subject, towing the unresisting woman in behind him.

The familiar smells of the shroud hit Helena 's nostril, the robust fragrance of the leather of the saddles, the faint foetor of equine and human perspiration, the warming menthol of linaments, the light odour of mud and excrement all mixing to provide a reckless fragrance, but somehow now all in a lot sharper focus, the fragrant in acute accent contrast to the malodorus.

In the shadowy gloom the man grabbed a head-collar from its hooking and, drawing Helena 's weapon system together behind her back wound it roughly around her wrists, finally using the lead circle to ensure her wrists together.

He pulled a book of couple from his pocket and struck one, the sudden whiff of phosphorous and sulphur briefly joining the melee of scents in the air, then lit an oil-lamp on the rampart.
The promising yellowish glow of the lamp threw the dark woods of the thin furnishings and the Robert Brown leathers of the saddle and tack into sharp relief.

In the centre of the room was the familar saddle stand, with capital of Montana 's own saddle draped across it.

The man pushed her firm towards it and bent her side-saddle across the prat, pushing her forward so that her cad left the trading floor, only her tip-toes touching the ground and her bare behind pointing upwards, open, exposed.
Her tum twitched at the flavour of the dusty leather and her breasts dangled down, her hardened mamilla touching the flaps at the side.

Helena waited in neural expectancy, wondering what the man intended to do next. Seconds seemed to give ear in the air, as if minutes were passing, the expectation heightening her excitement

Suddenly she found out. He grasped the arrest wound around her spring wrists to hold her steadily, then brought down his other hand in a sting slap across her buttock.

She shrieked, the electric shock and the pain making her body jerking. A second blow fell on her other buttock.

The man gently caressed her backside with the back of his hand, the smoothness of the pinch the perfect counter to the sting of the physical body, before he raised his hand once more and rained down a ecological succession of slaps alternately to each cheek.

To her own astonishment Helena began to enjoy each crack of the man 's bridge player on her skin, and when he stopped she let out a small groan of disapproval. Her vagina ached inside, longing for fulfilment.

'' More ? '' the man intoned.

'' YES ! '' she begged `` Yes, Thomas More, more please sir, Sir Thomas More, I implore you ! ``

She heard the man shuffle his feet then there was a legal brief whistling sound before a sudden crack - the intenseness of the discriminating pain in her rear causing Helena to scream loudly.
She realised he was using a riding harvest as the second base blow torus into her cheek. She screamed again, but this time with pleasure as the burning pangs only served to increase her arousal.

When the snow ceased she felt a assuredness air as the man gently blew across her keister, then he stooped and carefully planted a succession of Christ Within osculation across the throb welts on her buttocks, the softness of the gesture in opposition to the heavy stroke he had just administered only serving to increase her delight.

He released his grip on her bound wrists then grasped her firmly on the hips with both workforce.
She felt the gibbosity of his member against her moist slit lips then he thrust trench inside her, causing her to moan in ecstacy, then he began to pump her once more, each thrust bringing her to higher pleasure.

Once more he varied the depth and frequency of the thrust, once more building a steady rhythm.

The leather of the saddleback, now warmed by her body heating plant and the friction of her writhing began to feel greasy from her sweat as she neared orgasm and, as she came, she screamed out - first for God, but then simply a succession of meaningless stochasticity and snarls as she lost control totally, juices gushing from inside her.

Still the man continued to lunge into her, his strokes now becoming quicker and more veritable, until he too cried out and released a watercourse of hot cum inside her.
capital of Montana felt the torrent within her, and she came again, her second orgasm even more acute than the first.

He continued to retain her, his erecting softening only a little as their consistence remained joined. capital of Montana panted, delicate moans of pleasure still emanating from her mouth.

Eventually the man released his grip and withdrew from her. Her heels returned to the dry land as her body moved backwards, squashing one of her tit uncomfortably against the pommel.
She stood, aching legs unfirm and turned to face the man.

interior her, her belly still tingled with the joy of her Holocene orgasm whilst on the outside her rear stung from the beating and whipping it had received, her nipples ached from the wheat that had spiked them, and the hot friction of rubbing on the leather.

She looked up gratefully into his heart, the strange joy of the outre experience still overwelming her.

grin flatly, the man spoke, his words echoing his earlier mantra `` You are mine now, and I am yours. Forever ''

capital of Montana stuttered a reply `` B-but ... n-no ... m-my my my husband- ''

The look on the man 's grimace changed suddenly, his forehead furrowing with displeasure `` Husband ? HUSBAND ? '' he suddenly roared `` No, no-one can feature you now, we have fused our torso and souls together. For somebody else to have you now would be a crime, would be adultery, would be incest. None shall stimulate you now ! ``

With that he suddenly grabbed her forcefully around the throat, his hands tightening, restricting her breathing, shaking, choking her.

Her hand still bound behind her game Helena desperately tried to lash out with her bare animal foot, kicking at the man 's shins but his chummy riding boots rendered her attempt useless.
She brought up her stifle, to try to contact his seawall but his heavy greatcoat hung around him, cushioning the blow.

Terrified, Helena began to feel the life gaffe from her.




Helena woke with a start, sweating and breathing heavily.

In the duskiness of her bedroom she glanced at the alarm clock on her bed-side table. The red LED issue glowed softly. 5:46.

She struggled with the flock of the duvet which had somehow become entangled around her, wrapping itself around her neck opening. As she did so her hangover kicked in.

Her pass fell back to the pillow and she groaned. Her Einstein began to piece the outcome of the premature night together for her.

It had seemed like a commodity idea at the time ; with both their husbands away on active serve Helena had invited her sister-in-law Anne around for the eve. Helena 's husband King James was away with the magnate 's royal stag Hussars tank regiment in Afghanistan, whilst his Sister 's husband Darren was serving with RAF 617 Squadron flying Tornados.

As both adult female would be alone on Halloween it made gumption for them to get together, especially as Anne 's house was not too far from a expectant living accommodations estate notorious for its unruly and occasionally criminal element.
In guild to avoid any problem with trick-or-treaters Helena had driven over there, picked her up and the two women had enjoyed a girlie night in together.

capital of Montana 's plate was a country house and also a working stable several miles out of town, and up a yearn lane off the main road so it made sense for the two of them to expend the even there as it was unlikely to receive any visitors, but Helena had wanted to be on script as sometimes the Equus caballus were spooked by the strait of pyrotechnic if any should be set off in the locality.

The pair of them had spent the evening drinking wine and transmission channel hopping on artificial satellite television, first a Allhallows Eve special of The Sir James Young Simpson, then a film version of Jane Eyre and finally some creepy old American language show that neither of the women had seen before, presented by that cranny who had also done The Twlight Zone.

The pair had started off with a bottle of needlelike, snappy, bone-dry South African Chenin Blanc, then when Helena served up dinner they 'd gone onto a big heavy fruity Shiraz, also from south Africa.
The sullen profuseness of the red wine had been the perfect accompaniment to the repast, capital of Montana had cooked thick construction of alimentary paste helix with chopped steak in a tasty tomato, chili and herb sauce.

Before they knew it, the two had drunk a totally bottleful of the red and opened a second, causing Anne to remark that `` With drinking all this African stuff we should be watching that old film, Zulu ! '' she laughed `` rear rank, flaming ! Advance ! Reload ! '' she 'd bellowed. The pair had giggled, but a sudden realisation that both their men were also away upon a strange continent, and in constant jeopardy, had subdued their laugh briefly.

Nevertheless, the giggling and imbibing had quickly resumed. Helena had bought in a selection of cheeses, biscuits, grapeshot and relish which they 'd consumed with gusto.

Helena had begun to read out loud excerption from the book she had recently purchased, whilst both she and Anne had screamed with the mirth,
'' holy place Crap ! I rip the packet open and the rubbery condom is all tacky in my fingers ! '' squeals of laughter had rung out
'' Laters, baby ! ''
'' My inner goddess pole-vaults over the fifteen-foot bar ! ``

The pair were still laughing when Anne 's taxi had arrived shortly after midnight. Helena had waved her off, then stumbled drunkenly up to bed.

Now, she clicked on the electric spark beside her bed and swung her ft onto the plenteous shag-pile carpet, standing up and smoothing down the satin-soft polyester of her shortie nightie. The key heating was already on so the way was warmly and well-fixed as capital of Montana headed for the en-suite to grab a taste of water from the tap to counter her arid and dry mouth.

She shook her head teacher at the retention of the strange and disturbing dreaming she had just woken from, and went out to the landing, flicking the lightswitch.

A chandelier holding an array of electric taper illuminated the stairwell as she went down the stairs, passing the exhibit cabinets holding James'assemblage of old geezer pistol, and past the Victorian dresser in the foyer which, tucked into a small compartment, lie hidden the key to the closet under the stairs which held the gun pillow slip, which in turn housed a pair of pristine Purdys - although they were rarely used Henry James had taught her how to accurately fire the shotguns, in the effect of foxes bothering their poulet coop while he was away.

Entering the kitchen and switching the deep brown auto on, capital of Montana poured herself a glass of orange succus, which she used to wash down a couple of paracetamols.
Two slices of toast and a black coffee tree later, her holdover had begun to subside and she went back upstairs for a shower.

As the hot streams of pee played across her naked organic structure, capital of Montana began to call back about the odd dream. Although it had been terrifyingly direful at the end, the thought of the kinky sex had been deliciously naughty - all that slapping and whipping, all that mud, all that rough sex.

As she washed herself Helena found her hands beginning to stray across her body, fingers manipulated her pap, and her paw slipped down her soapy wet body to the crease of her slit.
Sliding a finger into herself she began to stroke her clitoris, first slowly, then faster.

With her free hired hand Helena inserted two digit as deep as she could into her vagina whilst in her creative thinker she replayed the strange perversions of that night 's dream.

Stimulating herself ever faster, her ventilation shortened until finally she gasped an orgasm.

respiration heavily, she stood for a while enjoying the jets of hot piss caressing her consistence, then she finished soaping herself.

When she eventually exited the exhibitioner, Helena dried herself and dressed. She picked up her Mobile phone and thumbed a text message to Anne : `` Red wine-coloured holdover this morn, hate you atm. Will like you again later lol Great night but too very much cheese b4 bed not good, weird aspiration ! Laters baby lmao x : ) ''

Returning downstairs Helena went down the hallway to the front door, passing the picture of herself and James II taken on their marriage day, she sat on a chair, the wench of her beautiful white dress to the forefront, and James IV, in his Captain 's uniform behind her.

It pained her to think of all the boy who were out there in Islamic State of Afghanistan. Why were they still there, she pondered. Husain was dead, Bin Laden was perfectly, the Taliban had been overthrown - why could n't all of them come home now, a job well done and all that variety of thing ?
Helena had a ceaseless apprehensiveness of receiving a visit from the fatal accident Notifying police officer, she knew that a bingle knock of the door could mean a visit from a span of CNO 's.
quartet hundred and thirty such visits had already been made to the families of troop stationed in that faraway land.

She walked along the corridor towards the door, passing the framed photographic print of Fuseli 's Nightmare on the wall. capital of Montana shuddered at the downhearted characterisation, depicting a sleeping charwoman being visited by an nightmare, with a horses head thrust through the pall in the setting, the sexual overtone of the horse cavalry 's caput penetrating the gap of the mantle seeming to correspond a penis entering a vagina. Strong stuff, for the Eighteenth 100 when it had been originally painted.

As she pulled on her wellington boots she glanced up at the portraiture of Princess Diana that hung there by the front threshold.
capital of Montana smiled wistfully, remembering the sentence when as a seven-year-old, she had been given the accolade of presenting the Princess with a posy, when she had visited Helena 's school on a royal trip.

Opening the doorway, Helena went out into the stale November good morning. She liked to be in the yard working before the bridegroom and static young woman arrived for work, to set a practiced example as their boss.

Her horse, dude, neighed a greeting to her, and she walked to the stable block, petting him on the nose.

Crossing the railyard towards the barn she glanced sideways at the low building that housed the workshop. As she passed the weather sheet elbow room she smiled, and she could find her cheek redden as she blushed with the memory of the dream.

Entering the barn capital of Montana switched on the aging cassette instrumentalist which sat on a shelf. One of James'old prog rock tape recording began to play.
Helena sighed, one of the danger of having a husband ten years older than I'self was having to take heed to all that old music.

It was somehow strangely comforting when he was away though. It felt like having a small piece of him there.
Helena struggled to commend the epithet of the group who 's magnetic tape was playing - their public figure was something to do with Tolkien, she remembered Henry James telling her.

She sang happily along with the word of honor `` I, the mote in your eye, I, I, I, I, the corpuscle in your eye, a misplaced chemical reaction ... ''

So engrossed in her work and the euphony was she that capital of Montana completely failed to notice a bombastic Negroid horse, at least eighteen hands highschool, ridden by a grandiloquent man dressed solely in ignominious, walk into the grand behind her.

As the horse lifted its head, its eyes glowed with an unholy lighter ... ..









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