Rezhack frowned as he looked into the rear-view mirror. His hair was growing too long on the neck. He parked the midnight blue jaguar at the curb, across from the first barbershop he noticed on the wide boulevard. As he strolled through the door, he noticed it was actually a salon. Fashionably dressed older women and a few  silver-haired men sat in chairs, being carefull clipped and pampered by young female stylists.

After a brief wait, a woman in her early twenties, her hair a mix of crimson and violet streaks, and her ears dotted with rings, motioned him to her chair. She raised and eyebrow.

"Shampoo and a trim," Rezhack said quietly, smiling.

The woman nodded. Dressed in jeans, a bechained and sleeveless leather vest barely restraining her breasts, she chewed gum with the relentless energy of bored youth.

Rezhack, leaning his head backward over the gleaming sink, stared up at the ceiling. He closed his eyes, feeling her hands lathering and massaging his scalp. The soft pressure of her breasts against his shoulder as she leaned forward.

"How you doing today?" she asked.

"Good."

"You still got a lot of nice hair here," she said, rinsing off the soapy shampoo. "Most guys your age are bald or real gray."

"Yes, it seems that way," he replied.

"You live nearby? New or just tired of the old place?"

"Just up the coast," Rezhack answered.

"Oh yeah? What Malibu beach, like that?" The woman seemed surprised, her breast pressing firmer against his shoulder as she combed his wet hair hair out in long strands.

"Gotta love the beach," she smiled up at him, popping her gum loudly.

She slipped up a pair of scissors in her hands and carefully began trimming him. Her vest shifted with her graceful slow movements, showing the long curve of her neck, the shaven smoothness under her arms, glimpses of the curves of her breasts. Rezhack watched her in the mirrors and their eyes met casually, then glanced away.

Then for a moment he held her eyes and could tell her sexual instinct went on alert, stirring from her languor of bored senses.

"What do you do?" she asked after a moment.

"I ride ponies," he said. "Polo."

"Polo? You mean like for a job?"

"For a living, yes."

"Here? You’re kidding me?" she grinned widely.

"Not here. I travel. Europe, South America."

"I only saw polo once on TV. I mean except for those after shave   commercials. You know the ones I mean?" She touched his arm shyly and her eyes widened  when he laid his fingers over hers. "You do anything else?" she asked, her voice  suddenly quieter.

"I write books. On horsemanship."

"Like what? How-to stuff?"

"No. More like what it means to be a rider." His eyes met hers and held them.

Her lower lip quivered a little. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"If you’re really interested, you could read a book or two about it. Drop by. I can recommend some things. If you are really interested," he repeated. He slipped a business card from a small leather case and handed it to her.

"Thanks," she said almost whispering, her eyes darting to the cashier’s watchful gaze, as she slipped the card in her jeans pocket. She seemed to return to her bored expression again, and continued trimming his hair, still ocassionaly pressing her firm breasts against his shoulder or arm as she moved. She ran the hair dryer over his hair quickly, and brushed him off with a badger hair whisk. "Is it okay?" she asked when finished.

He gave her a small smile and rose from the chair. Then walked to the cashier’s counter.

After paying he returned and handed her a few bills for a tip. She pocketed the money without a glance. Then as he opened the door, she called out with a little wave. "See ya, Mister Polo Player."

************************************************************************

Rezhack watched as the young woman from the hair salon ran her fingers down the scarred leather riding tack.

"Say, thanks for being so nice," she said, without turning to face him. "I really didn’t think I’d be out this way so soon." Her shoulders bunched as she forced a laugh.

"You have a private client out here?"

"Ummm, oh. Yeah. There’s this rich old woman, see?" She slowly glanced over her shoulder at him. "You know, never leaves the house, but she wants her hair done. Pays really well, and..."

"You’re lying," he said calmly. He walked over to stand close and looked down at her.

"You’re paid next to nothing. You have no ‘special clients.’ And you drove here right after work because..."

She stood silently staring at him.

He ran his hands over her leather vest, fingers trailing across her breasts, down her belly, then one hand settled over the crotch of her jeans. "...because you needed to."

Her eyes had closed. Her voice was soft as fur, almost breathless.

"What do you mean?"

He leaned close to her ear. "Don’t talk."

She felt his hands opening her vest, let her arms hang loose as he pulled it off and tossed it away. His fingers undid her belt, slid her jeans down, raised each leg to pull them off.

They joined her vest on the floor of the stable. She felt her nipples stiffen as he stepped away slightly. She could feel his eyes sweep down her nakedness, pause a moment over the black thong panties, and cowboy boots. "You can keep those on for now," he said turning away. "Come over here."

She followed him, her body shivering in the chilling night air. The setting sun sparked off of the gleaming buckles, studs, and rivets of the horse riding gear hung on posts and the walls of the stable.

Silently, she watched him pull worn leather straps from a hook. The straps formed an open bucket and had wide heavy rings attached. When he turned and pulled the leather over her head and face, she flinched. "Hey, I don’t know what....!"

He stared hard into her eyes, pulling the straps tight across her cheeks and under her jaw.

Then he reached his hand out and slipped a short springy riding crop from another hook and swung it in a slashing blow at her left calf. She yelped in pain.

"I said ‘Don’t talk,’" he repeated in a low, steady monotone. "If you make any sound at all, then whinny or neigh...like a pony."

She looked at his eyes, his mouth, then let them slowly drift down to his obvious erection in his pants. She licked her lips but made no sound.

He laughed softly and took more long straps --- reins --- which were looped over another hook and clipped them to the heavy rings of the leather bridle already over her head.

Carrying the riding crop and pulling her by the now attached reins he led her to another part of the stable. The floor here was covered with a matting of straw.

He sat down on his haunches, squatting low and yanked the reins in his hand. "Down," he said with a tight smile.

At first she wasn’t sure what to do, then tilted her head, finally getting down on the matting on hands and knees.

"Better," he said, standing back up. With one hand, he unbuckled his belt, and unzipped his pants, still holding them up at his waist. Her eyes followed as he walked around behind her. She felt the long leather reins sweep over her naked back, almost like a caress, then felt them grow taut as he pulled.

She felt his fingers pull her panties aside and for a moment his fingers slide along her already wet pussy. "Remember," he said leaning forward, "no talk. I told you all that is permitted, pony. Didn’t I?"

The riding crop snapped against her thigh and she jerked her body forward, but the sting of the leather made her lick her lips again and she nodded her head.

Then she felt the head of his cock teasing over her swollen clit. First the head, then his shaft --- which seemed to go on forever --- plunged hard and fast into her. She spread her thighs wider, balancing forward on her hands as she felt his cock go deeper. When he was all the way in, and started to slide out again, he pulled her head back with the reins. He began to stroke into her faster and harder, using the crop sometimes as a caress along her back, sometimes snapping it across her quivering ass. She felt her pussy squeeze tightly around his cock....and whinnied loudly in ecstasy.

END