All attempts to get him to try something more than the fast on-off, thank you dear and to sleep, had failed. Of course, she had made love to other men. Some of them were exciting, and some were considerate, and most made her come. But she loved Alex and wanted him. She dreamed of him wanting her in the same way she hungered for him. She wished he would be desperate for her, that he would never have had enough of her, and that he would walk around with a hard-on thinking of her.

To keep busy, she had reveled in the restoration of a rocking horse, and it was virtually finished. It had been an exquisite find, almost the size of a small horse, but in appallingly bad condition. She had known that with some imagination, a bit of money, and a lot of time, it could bring in a good profit for them. The upholsterer had done a truly professional job of stuffing and recovering it, and he had also replaced the mane and tail and painted the base back to its original cardinal red fire.

When she had been a child she had always wanted a rocking horse. It was ironic she should have one now, the ultimate one, for sale.

In the empty shop beneath their apartment, she basked in the company of the lovely things they sold. Alex was away for a two week auction trip, and she was doing some of the annoying jobs which never got done. She had worked through most of her list, but the rocking horse still needed to have the tail and mane combed, and ribbons attached. These final little touches would make it irresistible.

Her face glistened in the heat, even though it was six o'clock in the evening. Orangeville had been suffocating in a July heat wave which gave no indication of letting up. Later, she would go upstairs to their apartment and open all the windows, but she liked the smells and little noises here. She slid the bolt across the door, flipped over the sign to "closed," turned the main lights off, clicked on the overhead fan, and pulled down the blinds. She picked up a fine tortoiseshell comb and started to comb the mane and tail of the rocking horse.

The fan hummed gently as she worked on the mane of the rocking horse. She slipped off her shoes and overalls. What did it matter? At this time of the evening she was permitted some comfort to work, and the blinds were down and the doors locked. No one would see her.

The new scarlet velvet used for the body of the rocking horse glowed in the subdued lighting. She combed the mane and tail until every hair lay in order. The bridle had already been saddle-soaped and waxed and was ready to put onto the horse. She lifted it, sniffed the rich leather, and expertly placed it on the horse's face. The horse's head was fine-tooled leather,and its eyes were Venetian glass. Reins made of spun black silk dangled on the body. Once the bridle was in place, the horse looked alive and vital, a genuine fantasy beast. She stood back and admired her handiwork. Yes, a find indeed. She had only once seen a horse as massive as this, and that was at an auction in Detroit. It had been sold for forty thousand dollars US.

God, it was hot. The atmosphere was electric and tense, like there might be a thunder storm. Her blouse and bra had to come off. What the hell -- everything. The lot. Panties hit the floor, and she luxuriated in naked freedom. The slow motion of the fan circulated air onto her breasts. Her nipples rose into bright russet nuggets.

She examined the saddle and lifted it into place. It was crafted from a heavier velvet than the body, but was still silky, fine, and thick. Against the scarlet body, the purple saddle sat like a throne, a mystic seat. The gold tassels and fringe trimming it shimmered and trembled. She frowned. No, though the saddle was enchanting, somehow she preferred the horse without one. The body seemed longer, the back more sinuous. She lifted the saddle off and placed it on a chair.

When she leaned against the rocking horse there was the same solid comfortable feeling she always got when she was near a real horse. Well...no one was watching. Why not? She would try it. It was her duty to test it and see if it functioned as well as it looked. She placed her foot on a stool and swung her body over the horse. She tightened her thighs onto the velvet and tentatively began to rock herself.

Yes, the smell of saddle soap, rich and aromatic rose from the bridle. A man smell. She rocked a bit harder. How strange. How very funny. She looked down to see the glowing velvet between her white, white thighs. She rocked a bit more. The velvet molded itself to her ass -- it had a life of its own as it moved and pricked against the soft fine skin of her lips and rich red hole. Rocking, rocking, she was free for the first time in months. Gone was the stiff, formal, business-like Lydia. Each fibre of velvet moved in sync with each cell of her body. Tiny needles of silk, infinitesimal bantam strokes against her cheeks every time she rocked back. Her vaginal lips opened to the body of the horse; the tiny hole opened and flowered, flowered into a tulip, open wide. The rhythm of the horse accelerated. She bent forward to give her body more contact with the velvet.

The velvet soaked against her turgid full lips. She ran a hand down and felt the wetness. The reins, their silken fiber cool against her palms, slipped through her hands and lay free on her thighs. She stroked and rubbed her thighs with both hands. This was bliss. Pure ecstasy. With one hand she opened her lips, and with the other teased her clit.

A crack of thunder broke the silence and lightning flashed through the small gaps in the blinds. The rumbling continued up and down, distant and near. Every now and then the building shook with the violence outside.

She crushed her butt hard, hard against the velvet. She demanded silk, fine silk against the softest area of her body. She ground into the fibres. She leaned back and placed her hands on the horse's flanks. She was wide, wide open; open to the thunder outside and the lightning which streaked and lit the room and the horse rocking, rocking below her. She gathered up some of the loose velvet of the saddle, gathered it into a sort of glove over her finger and stroked her clit. Yes, softer then her own skin, silkier than the secret, hidden skin inside her. Secret. Hidden. Spikes of ecstasy connected her tits, her clit, her belly, her eyes, her face, her lips, her body. She was one with the soft prickles against her downy skin; she was part of the horse; all her orifices opened to the silk, the velvet, the dark tunnel, the secret of all places welcomed her own touch. Legs stretched wide open as her heels dug into the side of the horse, and she was lost. She rubbed and thrust her way over the mountains, into the clouds and above the earth.

She became addicted -- she doted on the rocking horse, she worshipped it. She was infatuated by the secret of it. She lusted for the motion and the stroke of those teasing prickles, which were both soft and sharp at the same time. She had to have it at least once a day. It was a vital part of her life. The fact that she had put a mad, totally unrealistic price on the horse was incidental. She would not sell the horse for any amount.

Alex had just finished setting out the new acquisitions, consisting of a delightful Victorian sewing basket, a nursing chair, two sets of silver canteens, some glass, and half a dozen hunting pictures.

"What the hell is that price on the horse? You must be mad," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"Wishful thinking," he suggested.

"I like it, and I think it must be worth twice that."

"Come on...can't see why. The damned thing takes up half the shop. Who would want something like that?"

"I would like it if I were a customer," she said innocently.

"Humph." He took out the silver kit and started to polish a vase which already shone like a beacon.

"Be miserable if you like," Lydia said. "I think we'll get the price for it. If someone wants it, they'll pay anything."

They had just made love, and as usual, Alex rolled over and gave every indication of being asleep. She slid out of bed and padded down to the shop. This had been the first chance she'd had for two weeks. They had been stocktaking, and he had been under her feet all the time, and she was getting desperate. It was as if all her passion was building up inside her, and she would shatter with frustration if she didn't get comfort soon.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she settled in the saddle. This was coming home. She sat rocking, and her body responded in a conditioned manner to this familiar lover. Waves of delight were a tide coming in and out on a flat beach. Trickles of motion, and the juices did flow. The velvet was warm with her juices. Vagina lips swelled and filled with passion. She was conditioned to this, and she could not deny it. She wet her finger and ministered to her nipples. They stood as bright as any beacons. Rock me baby, rock me, rock baby, rock me over the sea, over the ocean. A teasing, searching finger, one that didn't seem to belong to her, burrowed into her center of love and found her clit. No, bad woman. This was not permitted. She pulled the reins and wrapped them round both wrists until they dug in hard and sharp. No, she could not touch herself. But she was burning, burning. She tightened the reins with her teeth. Yes. She leaned back, the reins still being held by her teeth. Rock baby rock.

She shivered. In a mirror reflecting another mirror, dark in reflection, she saw Alex watching her from behind a screen at the back door. So let him watch and be amused. She would perform for him and pretend ignorance of her audience. Yes, I will give the performance of my life. Never will nipples be so tempted and aroused. Her legs rested on the horse's head as she rolled and stroked and rubbed her clit. Fingers, though her hands were bound, moved like snakes under her command as she moved and tilted to accommodate them. Every now and then she would stop and lick the tips of her fingers and run her long thin nails through the velvet marking it, leaving tracks in it..

Through all this performance she watched his face in the dark reflection.

Lydia and the horse were one. They were enveloped in the occult smells of leather and wax and woman and perfume and sex. Never, never had a woman come so hard, so violently, stabbing against the horse's back, swallowing velvet deep into her -- she was air, nothing but air and she swore she flew right out of the window, flying on the back of her horse.

It was Alex's birthday, and she always arranged something special for him. This time she pretended she had forgotten. No present, no card, no special meal, nothing. Just normal dinner and bed.

Lydia stood in the old pine doorway gazing at the rocking horse. The air breathed still and heavy against her naked skin. The animal glistened in the candlelight, its mane shining as if it had a life of its own, and the velvet body shimmered and glowed.

She had bought some glass bangles and leather anklets with minute brass bells sewn onto them. Bells and bangles tinkled, clinked, even as she breathed. She would keep all her mysteries to herself. Tell him nothing. This was his game and he could play it.

On the cabinet beside the horse, joss-sticks burned. She had found them in a seedy little shop in Mississauga. The man made them himself. "Potency power, my love, they have potency power. Make him go all night. Right they will." She had lit them earlier when she had lit the candles. The air in the shop was full of patchouli, lavender, sandalwood and candle wax.

The tiles of the floor shone icy against her bare feet. She drifted over to the horse and mounted it, as the bangles and bracelets orchestrated their music.

This time she knew it was a performance -- a command performance for his birthday. She mounted the horse and heard the tell-tale creak as Alex came down the stairs. She rocked, rocked absently as if she was nothing but part of the horse itself.

Her skin glowed brown with a touch of blush from the sun she had tanned under. She wet the tip of one finger and rolled her right nipple so it stood hard, hard and bright, and then the other.

Oh, she wasn't here, she was on a beach far away, and waves lapped against her toes and the sun surrounded her breasts. Velvet slicked cool against the heat between her legs; silk reigns zapped every nerve in her palms; saliva sweet as honey mixed with her own sex juices.

She heard Alex come in and stand beside her, but she didn't look down or give any indication that she knew he was there. Her voice was under tight control not to shout, not to yell, "Come up here, come up and fill me with your body, come up and ride me just as I ride this horse. Fuck me, fill me, tie me, rope me." She ached for him to feel the prickly silk velvet between thighs; yes, he had to run the silk mane through his fingers; he must tighten his calves against the solid stuffed velvet.

Then she couldn't pretend any more. She looked down and held out a hand. "Let me help you up, my love, come." He was naked, and the tip of his cock was positioned hard and arrogant against his belly like a glowing beacon. He ran a hand up and down her back, and down into her hole. Her skin opened all its pores to welcome his touch. She was nothing but that magic area between her legs, that centre of love.

The night had turned the shop into a theatre, and she and Alex were alone on the stage, and the only prop was the rocking horse. Behind her, he climbed easily onto the horse. His warm soft hands cupped her nipples. Hard tongue licked her back and he bit hard, hard into her shoulder. She shuddered with the mixture of pain and bliss. He bit her again, and she forced herself against his cock. She would need nothing, nothing to come, to erupt, to be spent. She was ready for him now.

Below her soaking sex the velvet resonated. She ran the rein, its fine silk cool, up and down her clit. His hand wrapped hers and took over control of her body. Silk rope wrapped round and round his finger, and he gently entered and filled her with it. The pad of his thumb stroked her clit. With one finger of his other hand, at the same time, he entered her back hole, entered slowly, gently, kindly, so slick, so fine, so good.

Just as she felt herself coming, erupting, he stopped and bit her hard again. She was sure he bit right though skin. She was at that point when pain became a peak of pleasure. "Yes, again." It drew her into him, drew her into the horse.

"Unclip the reins," he ordered. "Now." She did as she was told, and leaned forward and released the reins from the bridle so that they hung loose. He pulled her arms round her back and crossed her wrists and tied them together with the black silk.

He started to rock her, his hands on her waist. Just a tap at first and then more force, more rhythm. She lifted up and lowered, rose and lowered. With every movement her clit bloomed against the velvet. She smelt herself and the rich oily smell of the bridle leather. Her gaping sex pulsated against the body. "Oh...Yes, yes." He moaned and raised her up so she floated above him. "You have the loveliest little asshole I have ever seen. I have to lick it. Yes, lovely, lovely." He lowered her onto the saddle and tilted her forward. "Up a bit, raise yourself up onto the neck, yes, that's good right up and now I am going into you, one finger, just one finger, a wet finger right into your little hole. Yes, my love." His tongue worked round and round and in and out of her tight little hole and then his finger entered her darkness, in and out and round and round until she felt she was spread wide, wide open and there was nothing of her he couldn't see. Now it wasn't his finger but his cock. It slid in, entered, and its movement, its river-like sinuousness, filled her from toe to head.

His voice was urgent and panting, "Come on, come with me." She thought she would bite the mane right off. Yes, heaven, pure heaven. Faster, come on, faster come on more and more, she had to have him and the...

He pulled out of her, and with both hands on her waist, he angled her forward and lifted the rear of her body off the horse. His tongue lapped round and round and her own juices dripped against the side of the saddle.

"My love," she groaned through clenched teeth.

"I will rock you, rock you, rock you. Move a bit...that's good, just a bit. Yes, very full, full enough to take a horse into you, full, let me smell you, smell that mix of leather and you, and just you."

She rode further and further away, faster, faster, faster until she was nothing but that burning area against the saddle and him stretching opening licking wetting her, and so gently she felt him enter her pulsating vagina, and she rode on him, speared on his giant cock, riding and lifting her all the time, his fingers rubbing and petting and his cock deep inside her and she was impaled on his cock. He gushed into her and she screamed deep inside her throat as she came, and he thrust against her again and again and she was full of leather and Alex and...