David Crane

Sisters love horses

CHAPTER ONE

The blonde teenager came galloping across the meadow, riding bareback on her sturdy pony. It was a sturdy Welsh mountain pony, shaggy-coated and broad across the haunches, with a flowing mane tumbling over its arched neck and a silken tail switching as it jogged along. The pony's name was Buck. It was a stallion.

The girl's name was Bonny Harper. She was very young, but nubile for her age, her prematurely developed curves nicely emphasized by what little clothing she wore. Her white cotton tee shirt was tight, molded to the contours of her plump tits, and showing the imprint of her taut nipples in twin peaks. Her firm tit-globes bounced saucily to the pony's stride. She wore a pair of faded, cut-off jeans that were so snug they might have been painted on her loins, and were cut off so very short that they had no legs at all – just a triangle of denim stretched across her hips and clinging to her ass. She was barefoot. Her legs were long and slim and shapely, wrapped around the pony's flanks. Her pert ass shifted easily with the animal's jolting gait, and her crotch, barely covered by the crotchband of her shorts, squirmed around on the pony's broad back.

Bonny had long blonde hair, streaked by the sun into shades of amber and gold and honey. Her eyes were blue and wide, and she had a scattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. They gave the girl an air of youthful innocence. But her mouth was wide and full and sensual and not at all innocent. She was smiling with the pleasure of riding – and perhaps in anticipation of a different, less wholesome, pleasure that would follow that ride.

Bonny was a most desirable and exciting sight as she jogged her pony across the fields.

Her father certainly thought so.

Jake Harper was a gentleman farmer, having moved from the city some time ago to find a more peaceful life. He worked the farm with the hired help, however, never getting his own hands into the soil. At the moment, he was strolling across the field beside the lane, smoking a pipe and wearing a tweed jacket and twill trousers, his only concession to being a farmer was the rubber boots he wore because of the cow shit. Pipe smoke trailed behind him on the still, fresh air and Jake was feeling content, pleased that he had left the bustle of the city behind him.

Then he saw his daughter jogging down the lane and he no longer felt so content.

Jake felt disturbed – and aroused.

He had not failed to notice how nubile his daughter had recently become, and he had been troubled by incestuous fantasies concerning the girl. He felt embarrassed and ashamed of these depraved yearnings, but he could not deny them – nor could he deny the stirring he felt in his cock and balls whenever he looked at Bonny nowadays.

As she rode past, Bonny saw her daddy and waved to him, smiling. He waved back, but his return smile was strained. He clenched his pipe stem more firmly in his teeth and, when the girl was past, shook his head as if bewildered. When she had raised her hand to wave, her tee shirt had stretched tightly across her bouncing tits, revealing the stiffness of her nipples and now, gazing after her departing form, Jake watched her heart-shaped ass bob around on the horse. He saw that her shorts were so tight that little half-moons of her ass-cheeks showed. He thought he had even detected a few wisps of curly pubic hair coiling out from those chopped-off legholes. The crotchband of her shorts had been damp, too. Jake felt sure that it was only sweat, or lather from the pony's back, but it was exciting, nevertheless.