Allan’s Story

Alanna’s Story


Realisation hit her like a well-aimed sledgehammer. She had been fucked by this horse, which even now was still calming down after losing what seemed like a gallon of horse cum into her stretched cunt. Alanna felt her inner walls start to contract and adopt the usual shape of her uterus, instead of the expanded accommodating tunnel that had so recently been violated by the animal. The mounting bench that she had been placed and tied on was slick with the Animal’s seed. A pool of the milky white fluid had collected on the floor where it had gushed from her body and still trickled down the inside of her trembling legs…

As a sledgehammer has an after pain, she began to relive the events of the day and of the manner of her violation. The waves of thought crashed into her brain, as would the throb of agony after the initial blow from the tool.

Her mistake of taking the right fork in the road had led her to this. Trying to read a map and drive at the same time is not recommended, especially in the tight lanes of rural England. A snap decision to bear right at the junction seemed for a short while, to have been the right one. The road was well maintained, with clipped hedges lining the steep banks that were only relieved where a gate into fields coincided. But, then the hardtop suddenly ran out and the banks that had prevented her from seeing any more than the road, also stopped. The view that greeted Alanna through the screen was of a dirt track that bent around a low hill and disappeared.

She had thought to turn around in the field immediately in front of her. It would probably been okay, but she had not seen the cattle grid over the bonnet of her clapped out Ford Escort. The first part of manoeuvring had gone fine. Going forward was never a problem to her, but reversing always caused her some anxiety. She managed to get a tyre stuck fast between two bars of the grid, bending one a little to allow the tyre to pass through. It was terrible luck really, but seemed to happen to her every time she selected the reverse gear. Something would always happen, get in the way of her. It was always unlucky, a million to one chance, but she had accidents in reverse as often as some people drink tea.

The smell of a burning clutch soon let her know she had no chance of driving out of this one. But, had a more than good chance she would completely fuck the decrepit machine beyond even the magical skills of Brian, her mechanic, who was starting to get rich from her various adventures with automobiles.
Alanna left the cooling heap still stuck in the grid. She decided that the track had to lead to somewhere, and that the somewhere, was possibly populated. If she really got lucky, they may even have a phone, though God knew how long it would take to get a tow truck out here.

Twenty minutes of solid walking took her around the edge of the low hill. Two buildings only spoiled the panorama of undulating green fields. A white painted silo stood next to a small pond. Probably for storing grain, she had thought. The other building might have been white once, but so much paint had fallen off, it was hard to tell. A six-year-old child, judging by the condition of it, had put a paddock together. The gate that hung on only its bottom hinge stood open. The old looking horse ignored the chance of freedom and possibly stayed out of habit more than anything else. The stables that almost inevitably lead on to the paddock were obscured from view by the house. It had also seen better days. Paint, shingles and weatherboards were all peeling away from the structure as if trying to escape.

Apart from the tired looking horse, no other signs of life could be seen. But Alanna thought that there maybe someone inside. A curlicue of smoke drifted haphazardly from a chimney toward the back of the house. She decided to try and raise some life from what really looked like a forgotten place in history. Her feeling that time had skimmed over the hill and missed the house and surroundings looked as if it might be accurate. The chance of a phone being installed in this backwater dump diminished with every step that took her nearer.

She Knocked on an almost paint devoid door. No letter flat she noticed, or bell push or anything that might be considered modern. Silence almost deafened her. The quite had a palpable solidness to it, making it almost touchable. She knocked again, but didn’t wait to see if anyone would answer the summons. Alanna walked around the side of the house, stepping over cut logs and various rusted parts of machinery. Close up, the paddock looked worse than from a distance. The wooden rail mostly stayed attached to posts through belligerence and little else. The horse she had seen from a distance hadn’t moved and stood like a palace guard over the water trough which seconded as a breading ground for mosquitoes. The horse eyed her suspiciously, but made no effort to recognise her appearance in any other way.

Alanna stepped over a low rail and entered the paddock. Even the flies seemed lazy as they circled the head of the still horse. It didn’t seem to have the energy to blink or flick its tail at them.