Helena 's Nightmare




Helena slept heavily, her hanker blonde braid dangling over the border of the bed as she sprawled across the double mattress.

A groan escaped from her rim as she woke uncomfortably, the feeling of a weight pressing down on her stomach and ribs disturbing her.
As her eyes flickered open it seemed, in the glumness of her bed-chamber, that a small creature was perched on her body, its eyes glinting.

Eyes suddenly wide-eyed clear, she shot upright. The vision of the creature disappeared. She blinked and rubbed her eyes, groaning yet again.

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

In the moonlight Helena could see nil, but nevertheless the cavalry continued to protest, their haphazardness now more crying. Disturbed, she decided to investigate.

In the darkness she slid her feet into her slider, picked up a shawl from the back of her the chair by her dressing table, wrapped it around herself and, crossing the bare parquet plug-in of the cold-blooded room, stepped out onto the landing which led to the staircase.
From a ledge beside the door she struck a safety catch then lit the wax light housed in a small metal and spyglass lamp hanging below it.

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

Removing a minuscule key from the range around her neck opening capital of Montana opened the lock of the top drawer of the dressing table and slid it give.
She lifted out the Beaumont-Adams .44 caliber pistol it contained, and hefted it experimentally up to shoulder tiptop. The gun felt laboured, perhaps five pounds in weight, which she knew meant it was fully-loaded, with all five nip 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 newfangled American language Kathryn Elizabeth Smith And Wesson Model 3 pistols, as he preferred it to the received Brits Army officer result William Beaumont, describing it as quicker and more reliable.
He had left it behind for her personal protection whilst he was away - their remote control smallholding, nestling at the foot of Buckinghamshire 's Chiltern Hills was picturesque but apart, and within a day 's ride of London, with the newer, faster steam-trains such as The flight Scotsman also bringing the casual padder, robber or ne'er-do-well into the normally pipe down county.

She glanced up at the ferrotype hanging on the wall above the dresser, the picture taken on their nuptials day, with James River, resplendent in his U. S. Army skipper '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 nigh of the twelvemonth in that terrible war in Natal. The newspapers had all speculated that after the triumph in the fight Of Ulundi, and the subsequent capture of King Cetiswayo the war was won, and that the troops would be home soon.
It seemed otherwise though, in his finis letter James had written that they were expecting to persist in the country for some fourth dimension, to oversee its partition.

Holding the pistol in her correct hand she picked up the lamp and made her way to the battlefront room access, passing the reproduction of that spooky painting which St. James the Apostle liked so much, the shuddery one with the sleeping woman, the impish devil sitting on her chest and a horse poking its head through the drapery.

A portrait of the tabby hanging at the end of the hall looked solemly down at her, her rotund face and stout body making her come out 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 open posture en route to the royal stag Horticultural Show at Kensington.

The happy memory quickly faded, and Helena carefully set the lamp down beside the door, turned the doorkey in its whorl, and flipped the snap up.
Picking the lamp back up she tugged the door capable with her understructure, then made her way out into the yard, holding the lamp up in her result hand, whilst her rightfield arm hung by her side, carrying the weight of the shooting iron.
Behind her the wooden door hung, invitingly half open.

A poise autumnal piece of cake blew thick chain of an erie mist through the yard, seeming to almost beam in the sparkle of the good Moon. The coldness from the slabs laid across the chiliad chilled her foundation through her thin slippers, and she shivered as she walked, the rough hem of her cotton wool nightdress flapping around her ankles.

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

'' Easy, boy. '' she said softly to the equid, `` Nothing to occupy about, silly shot glass. '' although she doubted her own words. Something had spooked them and no mistake, she could hear them stamping and shuffling in their mortal stalls.
At the audio of her voice a couple more sawbuck poked their heads out and neighed disturbingly.

Helena crossed the yard, towards the unfold b opposite. To her left the single storey edifice which housed the tack way and workshop was in darkness, its doorway shut and seemingly undisturbed.

She stepped into the barn, holding the lamp as high as she could to attempt to throw as much light source as possible around the stacked bundles of chaff and the accumulation of pitchforks, rakes, brooms and buckets it contained.

Suddenly, the speech sound of hooves walking slowly in the yard behind her caused Helena to twirl round. She gave a pant of brat as she saw a bombastic fatal horse, at least eighteen hands luxuriously, with a man dressed solely in black upon it.

The horse lifted its headspring towards her, and Helena 's ancestry felt as if it would freeze in her nervure as she saw that its middle seemed to glow with an unhallowed white light.
Her own center stretched blanket in horror.

The horse halted at the incoming to the b, then the man dismounted and slowly began to go about her.
As he neared the light Helena could see him more clearly. Tall, handsome, with finely chiselled cheekbones and piercing low eyes. His honest tomentum was cropped short at the face, but left a footling longer on top. Although he wore a greatcoat, it was undefendable and his torso was obviously muscular, the pie-eyed jumper he wore displaying a well-built chest and a matt stomach.

His public square jaw was set in determination, and his heart glinted as he regarded Helena coldly. She took a gradation 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 handwriting struggling to pull back the pounding, ready for firing.

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

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

The flashy paper of the gun echoed almost deafeningly around the barn. The repercussion jolted her backwards, her arms flying up. She staggered back a step, one of her slippers flying off and her foot landing in the wet, cold mud of the barn floor.

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

scourge exploded through every nerve in Helena 's body. Damn, she had missed ! As James had taught her to do, she lifted the pistol and pointed the muzzle upwards as she re-cocked the gun.
Her pollex slipped off the pound on the first attack, although on the second she pulled it down and it locked into place.

Detritus from the shooting she had just fired fell from the vacate chamber and sizzled briefly as it landed in the moist mud. A small particle landed on Helena 's nightdress, burning a petite hole in the cloth.

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

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

The man took another tone forward, as if the bullet had passed harmlessly through him. Helena was petrified, unable to move, her trembling subdivision still holding the shooting iron.

With one last step he was before her. With a single savage sweep of a fist he knocked the gun from Helena 's outstretched hired man. It bounced on the flooring and disappeared into the dark fantasm of the b 's recesses.

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

The man continued to have her tightly against his own dead body, and his tongue continued to search her mouth.
He continued to stare directly into her eyes. She felt herself transfixed, unable to dissent or even bet away, as if under some kind of magic spell.

To her astonishment, Helena found herself becoming aroused by the approximate intervention, perhaps as a reaction to the reverence and horror she had just undergone, perhaps due to the wants and needs of a young cleaning lady left alone for too foresighted, perhaps due to some unconcious desire to be treated that way, but nevertheless she could feel the companion lovingness within the low-pitched reaches of her abdomen that she always felt when William James pleasured her in their bed, the rising moistness inside her.

Her tense body relaxed a niggling, and the man moved his helping hand to her articulatio humeri, pushing off the shawl, which crumpled in a heap around her heels, exposing her bare cervix, which he kissed.
His hands then grasped the sleeves of her night-robe, pulling them downwards and forcefully dragging her clothing down. As it reached her hips he let go, and the fabric slid down her branch, pooling around her feet.

The man held her implements of war and took a footprint backwards, his center steadily travelling down the length of her now naked body, regarding carefully her neck opening, pert breast, plane stomach, her pubis, then her thighs, calves and ankles.

His stare travelled back up to her inguen, pausing for a moment, then returning his gaze to see capital of Montana 's own eyes.
Finally he spoke, his words calm and stratum. `` You will be mine, and I will be yours. I will fuse your consistence and somebody to my own, I will pour my spirit, breath and strength into you, you will have me and I will have you. And have you I will ... ''

His accent was mysterious, continental, oppressed with the feel of telephone exchange Europe, and the countersign filled capital of Montana with a confusion of fear, apprehensiveness and lust.
She suddenly realised that not only would she leave 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 work force on her shoulders and pushed down. Hypnotically, she responded by slowly supplicating before him, the inhuman mud of the b 's storey dirtying her knees.

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

Instinctively, Helena opened her mouth, and the man pushed the throbbing extremity towards it, the bulgy header forcing her lips wider then pressing upwards to the roof of her mouth.

Slowly he eased it back out, then returned it in, a small deeper this time. Sliding it out and in once Sir Thomas More, he began a slow pattern of interpolation and withdrawal, his script gently rocking Helena 's heading forward and back, each gentle knife thrust going a fraction further back into her backtalk until finally reaching the back of her oral cavity. Helena began to choke a lilliputian, but the man simply moved one deal to her shoulder and pushed downwards, whilst the other script tilted her head backwards, aligning her sass and throat as one.

He bent his knees, pushed his hips forward, and he found what he sought - oceanic abyss throat incursion. Helena was powerless to fend as he slid the tool to and fro, from her mouth to deep within her.

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

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

Still panting, she was cognizant of him stepping over her, the leather of his riding rush pressing her wing, and the rough in hairgrip of his hands seizing her around the ribs.
He manhandled her around, turning her the opposite way.

Suddenly the heel of his flush jabbed her cheek, propelling her violently forward onto a bale of husk, the sharp prongs of dry grass stabbing into her erect nipples.

On her muddied knees, bend forward over the Bale she was unable to impress as she felt the leather of the boots once to a greater extent, this time between her thighs. His animal foot forced her branch apart then he too knelt, using her cast aside nightdress to prevent his own dress becoming soiled.

His bridge player grabbed her around the waist, and she felt the end of his cock Begin to probe the back talk of her moist vagina, before sliding deeply in.

He began a design of alternating drive, varying the profundity of each - sometimes lightly, gently inside her, sometimes powerfully jabbing oceanic abyss within, building a unfluctuating rhythm.
She struggled her elbows up onto the Bale to relieve her nipples from the scratching supergrass as her body rocked to and fro, but they still throbbed, the pain contrasting sharply with the joy the intemperately hammer inside her was bringing.

Helena felt her pleasure Menachem Begin to rise. Her breaths began to make out in short, sharp, draws. She began to give out a series of flashy gasps as her coming neared when, suddenly, the man withdrew completely.

With a final examination pant, 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 exit of sexual climax as she sat amid the dampness and the slime.

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

He stepped over her and, grabbing her weapon, tried to draw out her to her invertebrate foot. capital of Montana 's trembling ramification were like jelly and she was unable to stand, so the man simply dragged her along, through the mud, her legs and sides now coated with filth.

The tough rock of the slabs in the yard shocked Helena as she was pulled across them, jolting her to her pot. She scrambled to her fundament but was powerless to resist as the man pulled her towards the tack room. He paused by the door, lifting one booted leg and, with a single powerful kick, smashed the doorway open, towing the unresisting woman in behind him.

The intimate olfactory modality of the saddlery hit Helena 's nostrils, the deep scent of the leather of the saddle, the faint mephitis of equine and man stew, the warming menthol of linaments, the luminance odour of mud and excretion all mixing to provide a heady bouquet, but somehow now all in much penetrating focus, the fragrant in piercing dividing line to the malodorus.

In the shadowy gloom the man grabbed a head-collar from its hook and, drawing Helena 's arms together behind her back wound it roughly around her wrist joint, finally using the lead circle to secure her wrists together.

He pulled a book of lucifer from his pouch and struck one, the sudden puff of air of phosphoric and sulphur briefly joining the melee of perfume in the air, then lit an oil-lamp on the wall.
The bright yellow glow of the lamp threw the dark Ellen Price Wood of the sparse furnishings and the brownness leathers of the saddle and tack into acute relief.

In the centre of the elbow room was the familar saddle stand, with Helena 's own bicycle seat draped across it.

The man pushed her firmly towards it and bow her side-saddle across the seat, pushing her forward so that her dog left the floor, only her tip-toes touching the priming coat and her bare rump pointing upwards, open up, exposed.
Her stomach twitched at the feel of the cold-blooded leather and her white meat dangled down, her hardened teat touching the flaps at the side.

capital of Montana waited in nervous expectation, wondering what the man intended to do next. Seconds seemed to pay heed in the air, as if instant were passing, the expectation heightening her excitation

Suddenly she found out. He grasped the collar wound around her bound wrists to entertain her becalm, then brought down his other hand in a stinging slap across her buttock.

She shrieked, the shock and the pain making her body tug. A indorsement blow fell on her former buttock.

The man gently caressed her buttocks with the back of his handwriting, the suaveness of the feeling the perfect counter to the sting of the frame, before he raised his hand once more and rained down a succession of smacking alternately to each cheek.

To her own amazement capital of Montana began to revel each crack of the man 's hand on her skin, and when he stopped she let out a small groan of disfavor. Her vagina ached inside, longing for fulfilment.

'' more ? '' the man intoned.

'' YES ! '' she begged `` Yes, more, to a greater extent please sir, More, I implore you ! ``

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

When the puff ceased she felt a cool air as the man gently gas across her arse, then he stooped and carefully planted a taking over of unhorse candy kiss across the throbbing weal on her rear, the softness of the gestures in opposition to the heavy throw 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 paw.
She felt the bulge of his member against her moist pussy lips then he thrust deep inside her, causing her to moan in ecstacy, then he began to pump her once more, each driving force bringing her to higher pleasure.

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

The leather of the saddle, now warmed by her dead body heat and the friction of her writhing began to feel greasy from her swither as she neared orgasm and, as she came, she screamed out - first for God, but then simply a succession of meaningless stochasticity and tangle as she lost controller totally, juices gushing from inside her.

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

He continued to adjudge her, his erection softening only a little as their bodies remained joined. capital of Montana panted, flabby moans of pleasure still emanating from her mouth.

Eventually the man released his clench and withdrew from her. Her cad returned to the ground as her consistence moved backwards, squashing one of her bosom uncomfortably against the pommel.
She stood, aching leg unfirm and turned to present the man.

Inside her, her belly still tingled with the joy of her recent orgasm whilst on the outside her tail end stung from the thrashing and whipping it had received, her nipples ached from the straw that had spiked them, and the hot clash of rubbing on the leather.

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

smile flatly, the man spoke, his actor's line echoing his originally mantra `` You are mine now, and I am yours. Forever ''

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

The verbal expression on the man 's fount changed suddenly, his brow furrowing with displeasure `` married man ? HUSBAND ? '' he suddenly roared `` No, no-one can have you now, we have fused our consistency and souls together. For someone else to have you now would be a crime, would be adultery, would be incest. None shall birth you now ! ``

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

Her men still bound behind her back Helena desperately tried to flog out with her bare foundation, kicking at the man 's shins but his chummy riding boots rendered her attack useless.
She brought up her stifle, to try to contact his groin but his heavy greatcoat hung around him, cushioning the blow.

Terrified, Helena began to feel the life-time slickness from her.




Helena woke with a kickoff, sweating and breathing heavily.

In the darkness of her bedroom she glanced at the dismay clock on her bed-side mesa. The red LED numeral glowed softly. 5:46.

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

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

It had seemed like a good idea at the metre ; with both their hubby away on active voice service capital of Montana had invited her sister-in-law Anne around for the eventide. Helena 's husband Henry James was away with the Martin Luther King 's royal stag Hussars tank regiment in Afghanistan, whilst his babe 's husband Darren was serving with RAF 617 Squadron flying Tornados.

As both women would be alone on Halloween it made sentience for them to get together, especially as Anne 's house was not too far from a great housing estate notorious for its boisterous and occasionally criminal component.
In order to forfend any problem with trick-or-treaters Helena had driven over there, picked her up and the two charwoman had enjoyed a girlie Nox in together.

Helena 's home plate was a commonwealth sign of the zodiac and also a working stable various Swedish mile out of Ithiel Town, and up a long lane off the chief road so it made sensory faculty for the two of them to spend the evening there as it was unconvincing to receive any visitors, but Helena had wanted to be on handwriting as sometimes the sawbuck were spooked by the sound of firework if any should be set off in the neck of the woods.

The distich of them had spent the evening drinking wine and channel hopping on artificial satellite television set, first a Halloween special of The Simpsons, then a motion-picture show reading of Jane Lake Eyre and finally some creepy old American display that neither of the women had seen before, presented by that feller who had also done The Twlight Zone.

The duet had started off with a bottle of sharp, crisp, bone dry S African Chenin Blanc, then when Helena served up dinner they 'd gone onto a big heavy fruity Shiraz, also from South Africa.
The dark prolificacy of the red wine had been the double-dyed musical accompaniment to the repast, Helena had cooked thick twists of pasta coil with chopped steak in a tasty tomato, chilli and herbaceous plant sauce.

Before they knew it, the two had drunk a unharmed bottle of the red and opened a second, causing Anne to remark that `` With imbibing all this African stuff and nonsense we should be watching that old plastic film, Zulu ! '' she laughed `` fanny rank, fire ! Advance ! Reload ! '' she 'd bellowed. The pair had giggled, but a sudden realisation that both their men were also away upon a foreign Continent, and in constant quantity risk, had subdued their laughter briefly.

Nevertheless, the giggling and drinking had quickly resumed. Helena had bought in a survival of high mallow, biscuits, grapes and savour 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 hilarity,
'' Holy Crap ! I rip the packet open and the rubbery rubber is all tacky in my finger's breadth ! '' squeals of laughter had rung out
'' Laters, baby ! ''
'' My interior 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 Light Within beside her bed and swung her feet onto the rich shag-pile rug, standing up and smoothing down the satin-soft polyester of her shortie nightie. The fundamental heating was already on so the room was affectionate and comfortable 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 school principal at the retentivity of the strange and disturbing dream she had just woken from, and went out to the landing, flicking the lightswitch.

A pendant holding an array of electric car candela illuminated the stairwell as she went down the stairs, passing the display cabinets holding James'collection of antique handguns, and past the Victorian toilet table in the hall which, tucked into a modest compartment, lie hidden the key to the cupboard under the stairs which held the gun pillow slip, which in turn housed a pair of pristine Purdys - although they were rarely used James had taught her how to accurately fire the shotgun, in the result of fox bothering their chicken coops while he was away.

Entering the kitchen and switching the coffee auto on, capital of Montana poured herself a glass of orangeness juice, which she used to wash down a duad of paracetamols.
Two gash of goner and a disastrous coffee bean later, her hangover had begun to sink and she went back upstairs for a shower.

As the hot flow of piss played across her naked soundbox, Helena began to think about the odd dreaming. Although it had been terrifyingly dread at the end, the thought of the kinky sex had been deliciously racy - all that slapping and whipping, all that mud, all that rough sex.

As she washed herself Helena found her hired hand beginning to stray across her torso, fingers manipulated her nipples, and her hand slipped down her soapy wet body to the crease of her snatch.
Sliding a finger's breadth into herself she began to stroke her clitoris, firstly slowly, then faster.

With her free hand Helena inserted two fingers as deep as she could into her vagina whilst in her mind she replayed the strange sexual perversion of that night 's dream.

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

Breathing heavily, she stood for a while enjoying the jets of hot water caressing her body, then she finished soaping herself.

When she eventually exited the rain shower, Helena dried herself and dressed. She picked up her mobile phone and thumbed a school text message to Anne : `` Red wine holdover this morning, hate you atm. Will wish you again later lol Great night but too much tall mallow b4 bed not good, weird dreams ! Laters baby lmao x : ) ''

Returning downstairs Helena went down the hallway to the figurehead room access, passing the pic of herself and James IV taken on their wedding day, she sat on a chair, the skirts of her beautiful Stanford White clothes to the head, and William James, in his Captain 's unvarying behind her.

It pained her to intend of all the male child who were out there in Afghanistan. Why were they still there, she pondered. Saddam was dead, Bin Laden was absolutely, the Taliban had been overthrown - why could n't all of them come habitation now, a job well done and all that form of thing ?
Helena had a constant dread of receiving a visit from the fatal accident Notifying police officer, she knew that a single bash of the room access could think of a visit from a pair of CNO 's.
Little Joe hundred and thirty such visits had already been made to the families of flock stationed in that faraway land.

She walked along the corridor towards the room access, passing the framed print of Fuseli 's incubus on the rampart. Helena shuddered at the grim motion picture, depicting a sleeping woman being visited by an nightmare, with a horses head thrust through the drape in the backcloth, the sexual partial tone of the horse 's head penetrating the gap of the curtain seeming to symbolize a member entering a vagina. Strong stuff, for the Eighteenth C when it had been originally painted.

As she pulled on her wellington boots she glanced up at the portrayal of Princess Lady Diana Frances Spencer that hung there by the strawman doorway.
Helena smiled wistfully, remembering the time when as a seven-year-old, she had been given the honour of presenting the Princess with a posy, when she had visited capital of Montana 's school on a royal stag trip.

Opening the doorway, Helena went out into the dusty Nov good morning. She liked to be in the M working before the ostler and stable girls arrived for work, to set a unspoilt example as their boss.

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

Crossing the yard towards the barn she glanced sideways at the low edifice that housed the workshops. As she passed the tack way she smiled, and she could feel her cheeks redden as she blushed with the retention of the dream.

Entering the barn Helena switched on the aging cassette player which sat on a shelf. One of Henry James'old prog rock-and-roll tape began to play.
Helena sighed, one of the perils of having a husband ten geezerhood older than ones'self was having to mind to all that old music.

It was somehow strangely comforting when he was away though. It felt like having a little bit of him there.
Helena struggled to remember the public figure of the group who 's tape recording was playing - their name was something to do with J.R.R. Tolkien, she remembered Saint James telling her.

She sang happily along with the words `` I, the particle in your eye, I, I, I, I, the mote in your eye, a misplaced reaction ... ''

So engrossed in her work and the music was she that capital of Montana completely failed to notice a big black horse, at least xviii hands high up, ridden by a tall man dressed solely in shameful, walk into the curtilage behind her.

As the Equus caballus lifted its read/write head, its oculus glowed with an unholy light ... ..









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