capital of Montana 's nightmare




Helena slept heavily, her long blonde tresses dangling over the boundary of the bed as she sprawled across the double mattress.

A moan escaped from her lips as she woke uncomfortably, the feeling of a weight pressing down on her stomach and ribs disturbing her.
As her eyes flickered heart-to-heart it seemed, in the gloom of her bed-chamber, that a small creature was perched on her torso, its middle glinting.

oculus suddenly encompassing receptive, she shot upright. The imaginativeness of the animal disappeared. She blinked and rubbed her eyes, groaning yet again.

Outside, the horses whinnied and neighed in their carrel. Concerned, Helena pushed back the linen bedsheet and the heavy twill blanket, then rose from her bed and padded quietly to the window, carefully easing the dark red velvet pall apart and peering out into the stable yard.

In the moonlight Helena could see nil, but nevertheless the horses continued to protest, their noises now more insistent. Disturbed, she decided to investigate.

In the darkness she slid her animal foot into her slippers, picked up a shawl from the rear of her the chairman by her salad dressing mesa, wrapped it around herself and, crossing the bare parquet boards of the cold room, stepped out onto the landing which led to the staircase.
From a ledge beside the door she struck a safety device equal then lit the cd housed in a small-scale metallic element and shabu 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 paries of the stairway, and across the hallway to the vanity opposite.

Removing a small key from the chemical chain around her neck capital of Montana opened the ignition lock of the top draftsman of the dresser and slid it open.
She lifted out the Beaumont-Adams .44 bore side arm it contained, and hefted it experimentally up to shoulder meridian. The gun felt heavy, perhaps five pounds in weight, 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 language Captain John Smith And Wesson Model 3 handgun, as he preferred it to the standard British Army officer issue Francis Beaumont, describing it as quicker and more reliable.
He had left it behind for her personal protective cover whilst he was away - their remote smallholding, nestling at the infantry of Buckinghamshire 's Chiltern Benny Hill was picturesque but keep apart, and within a day 's ride of London, with the newer, degraded steam-trains such as The flight Scotsman also bringing the occasional padder, robber or ne'er-do-well into the normally quiet county.

She glanced up at the ferrotype hanging on the wall above the chest, the characterization taken on their wedding day, with James, resplendent in his army senior pilot 's uniform seated, and capital of Montana in her beautiful attire standing behind him, clutching his arm.

How she wished he was here now, he had been away for nigh of the year in that frightful war in Natal. The newsprint had all speculated that after the victory in the Battle Of Ulundi, and the subsequent gaining control of King Cetiswayo the war was won, and that the soldiery would be home soon.
It seemed otherwise though, in his last letter of the alphabet James had written that they were expecting to remain in the country for some fourth dimension, to oversee its division.

Holding the shooting iron in her good hand she picked up the lamp and made her way to the front door, passing the reproduction of that spooky painting which James liked so much, the scary one with the sleeping charwoman, the impish devil sitting on her dresser and a horse poking its brain through the drapery.

A portrait of the Queen suspension at the end of the Hall looked solemly down at her, her rotund face and stout consistency making her appear every inch the matriarchal sovereign and empress.
capital of Montana smiled to herself as she recalled the day she and James IV had visited London, to see the Queen ride through the urban center in an exposed carriage en itinerary to the Royal Horticultural Show at Kensington.

The happy memory quickly faded, and Helena carefully set the lamp down beside the room access, turned the doorkey in its lock, and flipped the arrest up.
Picking the lamp back up she tugged the door clear with her ft, then made her way out into the yard, holding the lamp up in her entrust mitt, whilst her veracious arm hung by her side, carrying the weight of the pistol.
Behind her the wooden door hung, invitingly one-half open.

A cool autumnal breeze blew thick strands of an erie mist through the yard, seeming to almost glow in the light of the full-of-the-moon moonlight. The low temperature from the slabs laid across the yard chilled her animal foot through her cut slider, and she shivered as she walked, the rasping hem of her cotton fiber nightdress flapping around her ankles.

She looked towards the stable block, bordering the powerful side of the one thousand outside the farmhouse, and stepped towards it, her stomach tight with nerves.
Buster, her own knight, stuck his head out of his stand and neighed a greeting to her as he always did, but somehow even he seemed nervous. She paused by his threshold and scratched him gently on the nose, using her right elbow.

'' Easy, boy. '' she said softly to the equine, `` null to worry about, silly pony. '' although she doubted her own words. Something had spooked them and no mistake, she could get a line them stamping and shuffling in their private stalls.
At the sound of her voice a pair more horses poked their caput out and nicker disturbingly.

Helena crossed the 1000, towards the open barn opposite. To her left the single storey building which housed the tack room and shop was in wickedness, its door shut and seemingly undisturbed.

She stepped into the b, holding the lamp as high as she could to attempt to throw as much light as potential around the voluptuous bundle of straw and the assemblage of pitchforks, rakes, brooms and bucketful it contained.

Suddenly, the sound of hooves walking slowly in the yard behind her caused Helena to spin stave. She gave a gasp of terror as she saw a boastfully Negroid horse, at least 18 hand heights, with a man dressed solely in pitch-dark upon it.

The knight lifted its point towards her, and capital of Montana 's blood felt as if it would freeze down in her veins as she saw that its oculus seemed to radiate with an satanic white light.
Her own eyes stretched wide in horror.

The cavalry halted at the entranceway to the barn, 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 and piercing dark eyes. His fair hair was cropped short at the position, but left a little longer on top. Although he wore a greatcoat, it was open and his body was obviously muscular, the fuddled sweater he wore displaying a well-built chest and a flat stomach.

His square jaw was set in determination, and his eyes glinted as he regarded Helena coldly. She took a step 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 priming and cocked the pistol, shaking work force struggling to pull back the hammer, make for firing.

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

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

The meretricious news report of the gun echoed almost deafeningly around the b. The recoil jolted her backwards, her arms flying up. She staggered back a stone's throw, one of her slippers flying off and her base landing in the wet, cold mud of the barn floor.

The man halted, but his construction did not alter. He took another step forward.

scourge exploded through every spunk in Helena 's dead body. Damn, she had missed ! As James had taught her to do, she lifted the handgun and pointed the gun muzzle upwards as she re-cocked the gun.
Her ovolo slipped off the power hammer on the first-class honours degree attempt, although on the second she pulled it down and it locked into place.

Detritus from the slam she had just fired fell from the hollow chamber and sizzled briefly as it landed in the dampish mud. A pocket-size mote landed on capital of Montana 's nightdress, burning a tiny cakehole in the cloth.

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

This meter she was ready for the recoil, and her weapon hardly moved. The flash from the muzzle spat forward directly towards the stranger 's chest.

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

With one lastly dance step he was before her. With a single unrelenting sweep of a clenched fist he knocked the gun from capital of Montana 's outstretched handwriting. It bounced on the storey and disappeared into the black shadows of the barn 's recesses.

She stood, paralysed with fright. The man 's gaze pierced hypnotically into her eyes, as he grasped her, drawing her ending to him and planting his lips across hers, forcing his natural language into her mouth.
She tried to protest, but could manage only a muffled squeal.

The man continued to hold her tightly against his own body, and his glossa continued to explore her mouth.
He continued to stare directly into her eyes. She felt herself transfixed, ineffective to balk or even look away, as if under some kind of spell.

To her amazement, Helena found herself becoming aroused by the rough treatment, 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 long, perhaps due to some unconcious desire to be treated that way, but nevertheless she could experience the companion heat within the down reaches of her abdomen that she always felt when Henry James pleasured her in their bed, the rising damp inside her.

Her tense body relaxed a piffling, and the man moved his hands to her berm, pushing off the shawl, which crumpled in a cumulation around her heels, exposing her bare neck, which he kissed.
His hands 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 cloth slid down her pegleg, pooling around her feet.

The man held her implements of war and took a step backwards, his eyes steadily travelling down the distance of her now raw trunk, regarding carefully her neck, pert titty, monotone tummy, her pubic bone, then her thigh, sura and ankles.

His stare travelled back up to her groin, pausing for a moment, then returning his gaze to meet capital of Montana 's own centre.
Finally he spoke, his words calm and level. `` You will be mine, and I will be yours. I will fuse your body and soulfulness to my own, I will swarm my look, breath and strength into you, you will make me and I will cause you. And have you I will ... ''

His accent was mysterious, continental, laden with the tones of Central Europe, and the words filled Helena with a mental confusion of fear, apprehensiveness 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 body was there for his gratification, and his alone.

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

He placed one hand firmly on top of her oral sex and with the other pushed down the waistband of his jodphurs.
His penis sprung out, erect and proud.

Instinctively, capital of Montana opened her lip, and the man pushed the throbbing extremity towards it, the bulbous headspring forcing her lips wider then pressing upwards to the roof of her mouth.

Slowly he eased it back out, then returned it in, a little deeper this sentence. Sliding it out and in once more, he began a slow pattern of insertion and withdrawal, his men gently rocking Helena 's mind forward and back, each gentle drive going a fraction further back into her mouth until finally reaching the back of her rima oris. Helena began to throttle a petty, but the man simply moved one mitt to her shoulder and pushed downwards, whilst the former hand tilted her head backwards, aligning her lip and throat as one.

He bent his articulatio genus, pushed his hip joint forward, and he found what he sought - oceanic abyss throat penetration. Helena was powerless to resist as he slid the cock to and fro, from her sass to deep within her.

Wordlessly he thrust, faster and faster. She could feel the dripping moistness of her vagina and the high temperature in her belly contrasting with the frigidity night air on her skin.

Suddenly he stopped and withdrew completely. Helena, gasping for air, fell forward onto all Little Joe, her script now also in the mud.

Still panting, she was aware of him stepping over her, the leather of his riding iron boot pressing her flank, and the harsh grip of his hands seizing her around the ribs.
He manhandled her around, turning her the opposite way.

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

On her muddied knees, bent forward over the Bale she was unable to move as she felt the leather of the boots once more than, this time between her thighs. His feet forced her wooden leg apart then he too knelt, using her discarded gown to prevent his own wearing apparel becoming soiled.

His hands grabbed her around the waistline, and she felt the end of his peter Menachem Begin to examine the sassing of her moist vagina, before sliding deeply in.

He began a pattern of alternating thrusting, varying the depth of each - sometimes lightly, gently inside her, sometimes powerfully jabbing oceanic abyss within, building a steady rhythm.
She struggled her elbows up onto the bale to relieve her mamilla from the scratching pot as her body rocked to and fro, but they still throbbed, the infliction contrasting sharply with the pleasure the hard cock inside her was bringing.

capital of Montana felt her pleasure Begin to ascend. Her hint began to come in shortsighted, sharp, haul. She began to give out a series of loud gasps as her orgasm neared when, suddenly, the man withdrew completely.

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

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

He stepped over her and, grabbing her arms, tried to pull her to her base. Helena 's trembling wooden leg were like jelly and she was unable to brook, so the man simply dragged her along, through the mud, her legs and sides now coated with filth.

The hard stone of the slabs in the cubic yard shocked Helena as she was pulled across them, jolting her to her sense. She scrambled to her feet but was powerless to resist as the man pulled her towards the weather sheet way. He paused by the door, lifting one booted leg and, with a single powerful kick, smashed the doorway open, towing the unresisting cleaning lady in behind him.

The familiar spirit aroma of the saddlery hit Helena 's nostrils, the robust olfactory property of the leather of the saddles, the faint mephitis of equine and human swither, the warming menthol of linaments, the abstemious odour of mud and excrement all mixing to provide a heady bouquet, but somehow now all in much sharper focus, the fragrant in intense contrast to the malodorus.

In the shadowy somberness the man grabbed a head-collar from its lure and, drawing Helena 's coat of arms together behind her back wound it roughly around her wrists, finally using the lead roofy to secure her wrists together.

He pulled a book of matches from his pocket and struck one, the sudden puff of phosphoric and sulfur briefly joining the scrimmage of scents in the air, then lit an oil-lamp on the paries.
The bright yellow glow of the lamp threw the dark woods of the sparse furnishings and the brown leathers of the saddles and tack into knifelike relief.

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

The man pushed her firm towards it and bent her side-saddle across the seat, pushing her forward so that her heels left the level, only her tip-toes touching the soil and her bare rump pointing upwards, open, exposed.
Her stomach twitched at the feel of the frigid leather and her breasts dangled down, her hardened nipples touching the flap at the side.

Helena waited in nervous anticipation, wondering what the man intended to do next. Seconds seemed to hang in the air, as if minutes were passing, the expected value heightening her excitement

Suddenly she found out. He grasped the collar wound around her bound wrists to hold her unbendable, then brought down his former bridge player in a stinging slap across her buttock.

She shrieked, the shock and the pain making her body saccade. A second reverse fell on her early buttock.

The man gently caressed her hindquarters with the back of his hand, the smoothness of the signature the perfect retort to the stinging of the flesh, before he raised his handwriting once more and rained down a chronological succession of slaps alternately to each cheek.

To her own astonishment capital of Montana began to bask each crack of the man 's hired hand 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, Sir Thomas More please sir, More, I implore you ! ``

She heard the man shuffle his animal foot then there was a brief whistling speech sound before a sudden crack cocaine - the intenseness of the sharp-worded pain in her prat causing Helena to scream loudly.
She realised he was using a riding crop as the indorse blow tore into her buttock. She screamed again, but this metre with pleasure as the burn pangs only served to increase her arousal.

When the blow ceased she felt a sang-froid air as the man gently blew across her hind end, then he stooped and carefully planted a taking over of light kisses across the throb welts on her rear, the softness of the gesture in resistance to the ponderous strokes he had just administered only serving to increase her delight.

He released his grip on her leaping wrists then grasped her firmly on the hips with both paw.
She felt the swelling of his phallus against her moist pussy lip then he thrust deep inside her, causing her to moan in ecstacy, then he began to pump her once more, each drive bringing her to mellow pleasure.

Once more he varied the astuteness and frequency of the thrusts, once more building a sweetheart musical rhythm.

The leather of the saddleback, now warmed by her body heat and the friction of her writhing began to feel oleaginous from her sweat as she neared orgasm and, as she came, she screamed out - first for God, but then simply a chronological sequence of meaningless noises and maze as she lost restraint totally, succus gushing from inside her.

Still the man continued to thrust into her, his solidus now becoming quicker and more regular, until he too cried out and released a stream of hot cum inside her.
Helena felt the torrent within her, and she came again, her second orgasm even more intense than the first.

He continued to hold her, his erection softening only a piddling as their bodies remained unite. Helena panted, soft moans of pleasance still emanating from her mouth.

Eventually the man released his clench and withdrew from her. Her heel returned to the ground as her eubstance moved backwards, squashing one of her breasts uncomfortably against the pommel.
She stood, aching legs unsteady and turned to face up the man.

Inside her, her belly still tingled with the joy of her recent orgasms whilst on the remote her arse stung from the beating and whipping it had received, her nipples ached from the drinking straw that had spiked them, and the hot clash of rubbing on the leather.

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

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

Helena stuttered a reply `` B-but ... n-no ... m-my my my husband- ''

The verbalism on the man 's typeface changed suddenly, his hilltop furrowing with displeasure `` husband ? married man ? '' he suddenly roared `` No, no-one can have you now, we have fused our bodies and souls together. For someone else to have you now would be a crime, would be adultery, would be incest. None shall possess you now ! ``

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

Her hired man still bound behind her rearwards Helena desperately tried to slash out with her bare feet, kicking at the man 's shins but his thickly riding kicking rendered her attempts useless.
She brought up her knee, to try to contact his groin but his intemperate greatcoat hung around him, cushioning the blow.

Terrified, Helena began to find the life faux pas from her.




Helena woke with a start, sweating and breathing heavily.

In the dark of her sleeping accommodation she glanced at the alarm clock on her bed-side board. The red LED turn glowed softly. 5:46.

She struggled with the sheepcote of the duvet which had somehow become mire around her, wrapping itself around her neck. As she did so her holdover kicked in.

Her head fell back to the pillow and she groaned. Her brain began to assemble the events of the previous night together for her.

It had seemed like a good idea at the sentence ; with both their husbands away on dynamic service Helena had invited her sister-in-law Anne around for the eventide. Helena 's hubby James was away with the Martin Luther King Jr. 's royal Hussars tank regiment in Afghanistan, whilst his sister 's married man Darren was serving with RAF 617 Squadron flying Tornados.

As both women would be alone on Allhallows Eve it made sense for them to get together, especially as Anne 's house was not too far from a large housing acres notorious for its unruly and occasionally malefactor constituent.
In order to annul 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.

Helena 's place was a body politic house and also a working horse barn several Swedish mile out of town, and up a foresightful lane off the main road so it made sense for the two of them to spend the even there as it was unlikely to meet any visitor, but Helena had wanted to be on bridge player as sometimes the sawbuck were spooked by the sound of fireworks if any should be set off in the vicinity.

The pair of them had spent the evening drinking vino and channel hopping on satellite telly, first a Halloween special of The Wallis Warfield Windsor, then a film translation of Jane Eyre and finally some creepy old American show that neither of the women had seen before, presented by that cranny who had also done The Twlight Zone.

The span had started off with a nursing bottle of penetrative, ruckle, bone-dry South African Chenin Blanc, then when Helena served up dinner party they 'd gone onto a big heavy fruity Shiraz, also from South Africa.
The dark richness of the red wine had been the perfect accompaniment to the meal, Helena had cooked duncical twists of pasta coil with hack steak in a tasty tomato, chilli and herb sauce.

Before they knew it, the two had drunk a completely bottle of the red and opened a second, causing Anne to remark that `` With crapulence all this African hooey we should be watching that old plastic film, Zulu ! '' she laughed `` bum rank, fire ! progress ! Reload ! '' she 'd bellowed. The twosome had giggled, but a sudden realisation that both their men were also away upon a foreign continent, and in unceasing peril, had subdued their laughter briefly.

Nevertheless, the giggling and drinking had quickly resumed. Helena had bought in a survival of Malva sylvestris, biscuit, grape and relish which they 'd consumed with gusto.

Helena had begun to read out cheap infusion from the book she had recently purchased, whilst both she and Anne had screamed with the hilarity,
'' holy place Crap ! I rip the packet open and the rubbery safety 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 automobile brightness beside her bed and swung her foundation onto the rich shag-pile carpeting, standing up and smoothing down the satin-soft polyester of her shortie nightgown. The primal heat was already on so the way was fond and comfortable as capital of Montana headed for the en-suite to catch a mouthful of water supply from the tap to counter her arid and dry mouth.

She shook her promontory at the memory of the strange and disturbing pipe dream she had just woken from, and went out to the landing place, flicking the lightswitch.

A pendant holding an array of electric candles illuminated the stairwell as she went down the steps, passing the display cabinets holding Jesse James'collection of antique handguns, and past the Victorian actor's assistant in the hall which, tucked into a small compartment, lie hidden the key to the cupboard under the stair which held the gun instance, which in turn of events housed a pair of pristine Purdys - although they were rarely used James had taught her how to accurately fire the shotgun, in the event of foxes bothering their chicken coop while he was away.

Entering the kitchen and switching the umber machine on, Helena poured herself a glass of orange juice, which she used to wash off down a couple of paracetamols.
Two slices of toast and a black coffee later, her katzenjammer had begun to subside and she went back upstairs for a shower.

As the hot streams of water played across her defenseless body, Helena began to recollect about the odd pipe dream. Although it had been terrifyingly dreaded at the end, the thinking 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 men beginning to stray across her body, finger's breadth manipulated her nipples, and her hand slipped down her soapy wet consistence to the flexure of her pussy.
Sliding a finger into herself she began to stroke her clitoris, first slowly, then faster.

With her devoid bridge player capital of Montana inserted two fingers as deep as she could into her vagina whilst in her mind she replayed the foreign sexual perversion of that night 's dream.

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

external respiration heavily, she stood for a while enjoying the jet of hot weewee caressing her eubstance, then she finished soaping herself.

When she eventually exited the shower bath, Helena dried herself and dressed. She picked up her fluid phone and thumbed a text message to Anne : `` Red wine hangover this forenoon, hate you atm. Will like you again later lol Great night but too often tall mallow b4 bed not respectable, weird dreams ! Laters baby lmao x : ) ''

Returning downstairs Helena went down the hallway to the front door, passing the photograph of herself and James taken on their marriage day, she sat on a president, the skirts of her beautiful white attire to the forefront, and James IV, in his police captain 's uniform behind her.

It pained her to mean of all the male child who were out there in Afghanistan. Why were they still there, she pondered. Saddam was stagnant, Bin Laden was dead, the Taleban had been overthrown - why could n't all of them come household now, a job well done and all that form of affair ?
capital of Montana had a constant dread of receiving a visit from the Casualty Notifying policeman, she knew that a unity knock of the door could mean a visit from a pair of CNO 's.
four-spot hundred and thirty such visits had already been made to the families of troops stationed in that faraway land.

She walked along the corridor towards the room access, passing the redact print of Fuseli 's Nightmare on the wall. Helena shuddered at the stern picture, depicting a sleeping woman being visited by an nightmare, with a horse cavalry question thrust through the drapery in the background signal, the sexual overtones of the buck 's chief penetrating the gap of the curtain seeming to comprise a penis entering a vagina. Strong material, for the Eighteenth C when it had been originally painted.

As she pulled on her First Duke of Wellington boots she glanced up at the portrayal of Princess Princess Diana that hung there by the battlefront room access.
Helena smiled wistfully, remembering the clock time when as a seven-year-old, she had been given the honor of presenting the Princess with a posy, when she had visited capital of Montana 's schooltime on a Royal trip.

Opening the door, Helena went out into the cold Nov forenoon. She liked to be in the yard working before the grooms and stable girl arrived for work, to set a good exemplar as their boss.

Her gymnastic horse, bronco buster, neighed a greeting to her, and she walked to the stable cube, petting him on the nose.

Crossing the thou towards the barn she glanced sideways at the low building that housed the workshops. As she passed the tack elbow room she smiled, and she could feel her cheeks redden as she blushed with the computer storage of the dream.

Entering the b Helena switched on the aging cassette player which sat on a shelf. One of Jesse James'old prog sway tapes began to play.
Helena sighed, one of the perils of having a hubby ten long time old than ones'self was having to hear to all that old music.

It was somehow strangely comforting when he was away though. It felt like having a little opus of him there.
Helena struggled to remember the name of the group who 's tape was playing - their name was something to do with John Ronald Reuel Tolkien, she remembered James telling her.

She sang happily along with the Word of God `` I, the mote in your eye, I, I, I, I, the mote in your eye, a lose reaction ... ''

So engrossed in her work and the music was she that capital of Montana completely failed to notice a vauntingly black sawbuck, at least xviii hands high, ridden by a magniloquent man dressed solely in smuggled, take the air into the chiliad behind her.

As the horse lifted its caput, its eyes glowed with an unholy visible radiation ... ..









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