They kept hounding her whether her eyes were closed or open; that was the part that scared her the most.
It was as if she no longer had conscious control over her own thoughts. They even dulled her senses and re-arranged external reality.
She could no longer tell whether something was real or an illusion dredged up to the surface of the world from her fevered imagination.
One image wanted desperately to have itself acknowledged by her consciousness. She dare not think it, and fought it back down.
But it was useless. Every time she thought of something else her thoughts would return to it like they were riding a circle.
She was sweating again. She had been cool here in the shade and couldn't understand. Before it was the sun that had her boiling.
Now it felt like the inferno was inside of her. She was not passionate or lusty but her temperature was rising fast.
The more she sweat and could not control her internal barometer the more panic-stricken she became and the heat became worse.
It was on account of that image she would not let rise to her consciousness. It demanded to be inspected and she was denying it a hearing.
Her heart raced. Her nipples were not aroused but her fleshy breasts shook from the intense level of her steadily palpitating heart.
She took deep breaths to calm herself and desperately groped with her senses to find an outer stimulation that would be intense enough to shake her awake from this terrible head-trip.
The smell of the sweaty stallion filled her nostrils. Soon the light stopped dazzling her eyes and the bubbling stream came into view.
She could hear the sound of the chirping birds. She could feel her tongue in her mouth and knew she had made it back to the world of hard matter.
Just when she thought that she had succeeded in fighting her way out of that terrible vertigo swoon, the deadly image popped into her brain.
It was like it had been waiting for her all along to drop her guard so it could attack her unsuspecting brain.
The image of Lightning's foot-long bloated cock that had appeared to her in the dream burst into her head.
She could hear the blare of the sound of an army of trumpets that accompanied the picture every time it succeeded in making its way to the surface of consciousness.
Her body tingled in fear. Her strength sapped out of her like a tree that was cut in half from the relentless goring of the lumberjack's saw.
Her bones felt like they were made of rubber. She felt guilt at being so fucked up she couldn't tell her dreams from reality.
With her knees tucked under her chin and her hands cupping her sobbing face, Melanie Barker cried like a saint who was suffering for an unnamed sin. Melanie was dying. And what hurt worst of all was that she did not know what was killing her.
CHAPTER THREE
Mullady Mistler stood atop the mountain peak that framed the valley below and adjusted the knobs of his binoculars.
The brow of his beady eyes furrowed into the rims of the eyeglasses as he peered down below into the sun-drenched canyon.
He had the voluptuous Melanie in view and licked his dry, chapped lips as he drunk in her stately frame.
He had watched her and Lightning prance around the floor of the valley and then she removed her clothes and made his head spin.
She reminded him of her mother in every way. The same beauty each of them possessed and the same vice as well.
Mullady Mistler recalled that thawing spring day when his mistress approached him and revealed to him her startling secret.
"Mullady, there's something I want you to do. And I need you to promise me you will never tell a living soul about it."
"Of course, ma'am, anything the mistress wants she shall have."
Then she revealed to him her decadent plan. He watched as her heavy breasts rose and fell in excitement as she told him of her evil desire.
"I want you to build for me an unusual contraption. It must be shaped like a small stall and made of wood."
"Whatever for, madam?"
"Just listen. The stall must be raised on a platform. There must be a leather harness that will fit around a horse's back." She probed his eyes with her own, those big, black jewels that always glistened with untold desire.
"Yes, madam, I'm listening."
"The contraption must be designed in such a way that I can slip underneath it while the horse is set in place."
"Madam, you don't mean…"
"Quiet, Mullady, and just listen. Do not worry, you will be amply rewarded. But your discretion is imperative in this case."
"I understand, madam."
"The contraption must be built in the back of the old tool shed that is rarely used. Have you got that?"
"Yes, in the old tool shed."
"Of course, Mr. Barker must know absolutely nothing about this. You will assist me when the time comes."
"Madam, are you sure this is what you desire?"
"I will not be questioned about it Mullady. I've been thinking about the idea all my life. Now the time has come."
"But in the story books, madam, where it has been recorded that this kind of thing has been done before, it has often proved fatal."
"That is a chance I am prepared to take. All I insist upon is your loyalty and cooperation. Can I count on it."
"Of course you can, madam. I shall do anything you request, although I do not agree and fear for your safety."
"That is not your concern. When the time comes I will hold to my word and you shall receive a fine reward for your efforts."
"As you wish, madam."
Mullady Mistler built the contraption. It was a marvel of engineering skill and a testament to his unique talent.
He had to build it by himself, away from the men who would surely have noticed something strange about its peculiar design.
When he had finished constructing it, his sense of aesthetics forced him to varnish the wood to a glistening gloss.
The small chamber underneath where Nora Barker would position herself underneath the mating stallion he had lined in soft white fur.
There was a silver bar that stretched in front of her so that her passionate fingers could keep her properly leveraged during the sordid act.
The leather strap that bound the horse was sure to allow her just enough of a play with the mammoth thrusting cock without the weight behind it.
The contraption was a magnificent design, which after it was built, seemed to glow in a pulsing aura.
When he finished it, after a steady month's diligent effort, he draped it with a blue felt cloth he purchased especially for it.
Nora Barker had demanded that money be secondary in the pursuit of excellence in the construction of her sordid contraption.
It had cost nearly five thousand dollars to construct it, not counting the labor Mullady Mistler had put into it.
Nora had promised to reward him handsomely as long as the wooden harness complied with the specifications of her fantasy.
She had not lied. When he took her to the back of the tool shed she had in her hand a cashiers check.
He shall never forget that day.
"Madam, the construction is finished. All is ready."
He could see that the knowledge that the thing had been built was making her passionately swoon.
Her eyes rolled in her head for a short moment until she cooled herself off long enough to speak.
"Are you sure, Mullady, is everything in order, just as I specified."
"Yes, madam, it is a perfect likeness."
He led the way and she followed behind him. He could hear her breath become more fevered the closer they came.
He opened the door for her and they stepped inside the shed. When he turned on the light he heard her gasp.
There it stood on a squared off platform with the felt cloth draped over the main portions hiding it from view.