It was the third week in succession that the very tall woman had been brought to the Pony Races. In spite of so much experience, Louise Larson was still having a difficult time pulling her cart. Almost six feet tall, her strength was not commensurate with her size and her long legs always seemed to get in her way. The circumstances that led to her being here began last autumn. Louise Larson never was a fortunate woman. Had she been lucky, or had she not been so tall, her life might have been very different and very much easier. An only child, she was born when her parents were already in their late thirties. Both her parents were children of Swedish immigrants and both had inherited from their parents an austere coldness that was to forever haunt their daughter. By the time she entered high school Louise towered over all of the other students in her class. When the women’s basketball coach saw her in the halls, she tried to recruit Louise for the team. Louise’s parents, however, would not hear of such a thing. She joined no clubs in high school, made no friends and, always embarrassed by her height, tended to slouch in public. She never had a date through her four years of high school except for the senior prom. A little, dumpy boy, almost a foot shorter than she, asked was and Louise accepted. With dogged determination, she moved clumsily around the floor with him, conscious of the smirking glances and condescending looks from her classmates.

College too was a trial for Louise. Embarrassed about her height, she slouched her way around campus, made herself look unattractive and was genuinely upset when any boys paid attention to her. The few male students who made their way through Louise’s defenses found her to be bright though very shy and, surprisingly easy to take to bed. The problem was once she was taken to bed; Louise was impossible to shake off. With no sense of the conventions, she threw herself at the boys she liked and could only be dealt with by getting rid of her entirely. It was in her third year as a librarian that Louise Larson began sleeping with one of the young men who frequented the stacks. For three years she found sad, shy boys who came to the librarian with questions. She invited them to her home for coffee and they remained to share her bed. In each case Louise remained in charge of the situation, her chosen boys grateful to the point of embarrassment for her attentions.

For Louise Larson it was a blossoming. For the first time in her life she found herself comfortable with her height and with her looks. Though she did not suddenly become adept at putting on makeup or doing her hair, it was clear from her manner that something fundamental had changed in the way she carried herself and the way she acted. Having young lovers redeemed her high school experience, made the memories of that time less of a burden.

There was Matt. Matt was handsome, smart, and clever, an electrician, part of the crew rewiring the lighting and putting in new lines for the computers. They had coffee a couple of times before she invited him over to her house. Matt understood even before she invited him that the woman had a crush on him. There had been rumors around the library that Miss Larson slept with young male patrons but such rumors often floated around and were usually false. As he listened and asked around, Matt began to believe that at least some of the rumors were true.

Matt could see that Miss Larson was very nervous, unsure of how to proceed. He let her stand there for a few moments upset and uncomfortable before he rose and took her hand. As though he had done it hundreds of times, which he hadn’t, Matt began undoing the teacher’s blouse. She was at least a head taller than him and, to deal with his own nervousness, which he was determined not to let show, he stared at her throat.

“Matthew,” she said softly. His mouth dry, his throat constricted, Matt knew that there was no way that he could reply. He looked up at her, smiled and continued unfastening each of the buttons on her white blouse. She stood still and quiet when he pushed the blouse back from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. He reached behind her back to unfasten the clasp of her bra, to free her large breasts from their case. Pressing his palms over those breasts, feeling the soft flesh yielding to his touch, the experience, at last, began to seem real. That really was Miss Larson he was undressing and this was really happening. When he moved his hands, Miss Larson shrugged her shoulders and the bra fell from her arms. Matt then opened the buttons at the side of her skirt, slid down the zipper and her skirt slipped to the floor beside the blouse and bra. Looking not at him but down at the floor, Louise Larson remained almost motionless now reduced to a pair of flowered pink nylon panties and flat shoes. Leaning forward he pressed his lips on the inside of her breasts as he shoved her panties below her hips. As he hoped she would, Miss Larson pushed off her panties and moving closer began unfastening his belt. When she took down his pants, Matt realized he wasn’t going to last much longer. Feigning a confidence that he wasn’t at all sure of Matt put his hands on her shoulders to press the naked woman to her knees. Fortunately, she acquiesced and in a moment had taken him inside her mouth. A few seconds later, crying out with pleasure and release, he exploded.

When his shrunken member finally slipped out from between her lips, Louise straightened up and pressed her face into his chest. Even on her knees, she was tall. He felt a great swelling of pride and pleasure at having conquered so substantial a woman as Miss Larson. The feelings were not unlike those that big game hunters must feel at bringing down a rhino or an elephant or a fierce lion, the satisfaction enhanced by the towering size of the subdued beast. Miss Larson’s size, her long legs and elegantly curved neck served to increase his satisfaction to a degree that Matt never would have anticipated. He stroked her fine blond hair.

“My darling Louise,” he whispered down at the top of her head and was immediately rewarded with a hug and her lips pressed against his chest.

Louise had dabbled in oral sex with her previous lovers but nothing like what had just happened. She had never gone down on her knees, never allowed any of the boys to fill her mouth. “My darling Louise,” Matt had said. Louise glowed with pleasure. This was no simple seduction as it had been with Matt’s predecessors. Louise Larson had fallen in love, totally, completely and entirely in love. Had she been more self aware, Louise would likely have rejected as absurd the reasoning that convinced her of her feelings. But the ideas never reached consciousness, merely floating below her level of awareness. Had she not been in love, her subconscious told her, she never would have allowed what just happened. She could not have been so satisfied at giving Matt pleasure, had she not already been in love with him. Matt took Louise by the hand. She rose to her full height, towering almost six inches over him, and they moved to her bedroom.

Because she had no guile, she let Matt know the extent of her devotion. When he invited her to attend his team’s softball game, she was thrilled. Matt’s passion was his softball team. He was the third baseman and the team’s best hitter. And so it became Louise Larson’s passion also. She attended every game and was as disturbed as any of the players when they decided that, although they had been invited, there wasn’t enough money to go to the state tournament. By next year, they vowed, they would raise enough money for the trip.

“Matt, what are you doing?” He really disliked her whining. The sounds the emanated from her throat when she whined were unpleasant enough, but the reluctance to do exactly what he wanted of her was even more unpleasant. Well, he thought, that makes it easier to subject her to what he had in mind. “What are you doing?” she repeated. Matt continued to undress the teacher. During the months that Matt had been Louise’s lover, his confidence with her had reached new heights. There was very little that he couldn’t cajole from her.

“But I thought you said someone was coming over.”

“Hush, my darling,” he whispered. “You’ll see soon enough.”

When she was completely naked, Matt had her stand in the middle of the living room. “Don’t move,” he ordered as he circled slowly, studying the tall woman. After awhile he was satisfied and he told her to kneel down. “That’s right,” he said, as she lowered herself. Dragging a wooden chair from the kitchen, he placed it just behind her, so it was pressing against her back. Matt knelt just beside Louise and tied a cord on her left ankle. A moment later he fastened the cord to one of the back legs of the chair. He moved quickly to the other side, tied another cord to her left ankle and fastened it to the other rear leg.

“Matthew. This won’t do. Let me up immediately. Listen to me, Matthew. Untie me and let me up.” As though suddenly aware of her peril and realizing that no amount of bluster would serve, Louise began to whine. “Please, Matt. Please let me up.”

Matt stood directly in front of her, leaned down, took her left nipple between thumb and forefinger, and squeezed very hard.

“Ooouw,” she cried, “Don’t. That hurts.

“Just keep your mouth shut, Louise,” he began. “Under the circumstances, that’s not at all what I meant to say.” Letting go of the nipple, he started laughing. “No, not at all. What I mean is not another word from you. Not another word.”

“But Matt,” she whined in that particularly grating way that Matt just hated.

Now he grabbed both nipples and squeezed as hard as he could until Louise was wailing in pain. He let go, stepped back and, much to his surprise, watched her fall forward.

Realizing that he had miscalculated, Matt ran into the kitchen, found some string and returned. He made a pony tail with a handful of her long, straight, blond hair, fastened the string to her hair, pulled her back up to her knees and, leaving a few inches of slack, so her height was adjustable, and wrapped the string on to the back of the chair. Now she was in place, no longer able to frustrate his plans by pitching forward. He glanced at the clock, realized he still had a few minutes and ran upstairs to her bedroom. After draping the white sheet over her kneeling figure, Matt tried to arrange the edges of the sheet into a graceful circle.

Matt spoke softly into the tense silence. They had arrived, all but two of the members of the softball team, summoned to this address for something both important and secret. “You know what a tableau vivant is?” Matt looked around. “Richard, you studied French. Remember about a tableau vivant?”

“Some kind of table?” Richard tried.

All eyes remained on the covered display in the middle of the living room.

“No kind of table,” Matt scoffed. “C’mon, who else had French?”

When no one else ventured a guess, Matt said, “tableau vivant, a living picture. Someone or something alive, that’s arranged like a picture. And that’s what we have right here, a tableau vivant.” Matt took the sheet in both hands and, with a flourish, pulled it away. “Ta Da!” he sang out, “our own tableau vivant, the lovely Louise Larson.”

The woman’s eyes though wide open were fixed and unseeing, a picture of fear and disbelief. It was as though, for a few moments, she had managed to convince herself that this wasn’t really happening, at least that it wasn’t happening to her. People often say that something isn’t really happening, but it’s usually just something they say, without at all convincing themselves or their listeners. But anyone attending to Louise Larson’s face might well have believed that she had removed inner self to someplace where this wasn’t really happening.

None of the boys, however, were attending closely to the woman’s face beyond taking in the fact that the naked woman kneeling before them was available. Their wide eyes were fastened on her bare shoulders and breasts, the features of her body and patch of pubic hair. Though they all had fantasized about naked female bodies, only Matt and two others had ever seen one so blatantly displayed.

“I told you guys that Louise Larson volunteered to help out the softball team. I asked what she wanted to do for the team and she said she’d do whatever she could. Here’s something she can do. James,” Matt broke off. “Touch her, she’s real. You look like you’re seeing a ghost. But she’s real.” Matt took the young man’s hand and placed it on Louise’s shoulder. “See, she’s real. And so are these,” he said, putting the boy’s palm on her breast. “Everybody might as well have a feel before we start. She’s not only a tableau vivant, she’s a tableau piquant.” Silently and seriously they shuffled in front of the naked woman, stopping to poke or touch or squeeze her. “Things like this are hard to keep secret but I’m counting on all you guys. You can’t let anyone else know about this. It has to stay between us. Don’t mention this to anyone except the other guys on the team and be very careful about what you say. Everyone understand?” There were nods of assent from all the boys.

When the last of them finished exploring Louise’s naked body Matt announced that it was time for the librarian to earn her letter as the team’s mascot. “I think it’s only fair that I go first. We’ll proceed by jersey numbers. So Joe, who wears the number one, will go next, and then Alan, and Norm. Okay with everybody?” Matt loosened his pants and stepped directly in front of the librarian. “There’s some play in the string so you can adjust her to the right height.” Placing her hands on his hips, Matt tipped Louise Larson slightly forward. “Okay my darling,” he whispered to her, “Preliminaries over. It’s time for you to get to work.”

Each of the boys presented himself in directly front of Louise Larson, remained until she sucked them dry, and moved off. The procession was mostly silent, almost reverential, as each one waited his turn. For those who had seen Miss Larson in the library there was a certain extra pleasure. Two of the boys with high jersey numbers who had waited a long time for their turn, were embarrassed by unloading in their underpants. They were both rewarded, however, by staying longer in the moist interior of her mouth before finally letting go.

There was a terrible moment, in late November, when Louise saw Matt through the windows of a restaurant chatting with a very pretty young woman. Louise barged in on them in a desperate state. Matt was calm and unembarrassed. He introduced the girl to Louise. It was, he said, his sister, Belinda. Belinda was leaving her husband and they were talking about where she would stay. Matt’s little apartment obviously wasn’t big enough for both of them. With only a little prodding, Louise offered her spare bedroom, and it was eagerly accepted.

“Will you please stand still?” It was not a question but merely an expression of annoyance. The girl shook her head. “How can I get these to stick, if you keep moving around like that?” Louise Larson shifted her stance, endeavoring to remain motionless while the young woman went back to what she was doing, pasting gold and green stars on Louise’s Larson’s stomach and chest. The librarian, wearing nothing but a pair of panties, was already decorated with colored stars on her back, and now Belinda was working on her neck and chest. At the moment the girl was trying to decide whether to do both nipples the same or with contrasting colors. At last she took two gold stars and pressed one on to each of the woman’s large nipples. “Gold stars. Just right. Don’t you think? Turn around, so I can see you.” Belinda nodded, regarding her own handiwork with approval.

“Hand me that box,” she ordered. Louise handed her a long flat box. Unfurling the string of lights, Belinda draped them over Louise’s shoulders, took one turn around the woman’s neck, pulled the wire down between her breasts, wrapped the lights around Louise’s waist and Scotch taped the free end to Louise Larson’s left leg just above the ankle. “Step up on that little stand.” Louise obeyed; the girl put the plug into the wall socket and the string lit up. “Matt,” she cried, clapping her hands together with glee. “Matt, come see our new Christmas decoration. She’s just perfect.”

They stood side by side admiring the woman standing almost naked, gold and green stars reflecting the lights that flickered across her naked body. “Smile, Louise. It’s Christmas. You’re supposed to be a happy Christmas decoration.” Louise Larson looked as though she would break into tears at any moment.

“Something on top,” Matt said to his sister. “Don’t you think so? She needs something on top. Get that angel and put it on her head.”

“You were right,” Belinda said to her brother when the Christmas angel was installed on Louise Larson’s blond head, “that is better. Get back on your stand,” the girl barked at the librarian. Louise remounted the small platform. “And be careful it doesn’t fall off.” The youngsters stood side-by-side regarding their tall Christmas decoration. For her part Louise stared at the wall opposite, avoiding their eyes.

Among the various indignities Louise was forced to suffer during that Christmas holiday, none was more disturbing than the nightly ritual of Belinda’s bath and bedtime. In the evening, while Matt was out with his friends, Louise bathed the girl. On one particular evening Louise slipped through the door and into the warm, steamy bathroom, closing the door behind her. There was a rich sweet aroma from the tub where the blue gel had swollen into millions of small white bubbles. In the heavy and dense air Louise felt surrounded and protected. For just a moment she felt quite safe. Leaning down, she tested the temperature of the bath water, found it satisfactory, stirred the bubbles, and dried her hand. She shut her eyes against the bright light and imagined herself floating free in a warm cloud.

In the midst of her reverie, the door swung open. "Is my bath ready?"

"Yes, Belinda," Louise answered.

Belinda closed the door behind her. Louise took the robe from the girl's back and hung it on the back of the door. Belinda stood in the middle of the small room looking straight ahead, apparently ignoring the woman who was tending her. Louise bent down, removed Belinda's fluffy pink slippers and placed them against well away from the bathtub. The previous night, Louise put damp slippers on the girl's feet. Belinda was furious. The punishment had been immediate and intense. She spanked Miss Larson until Louise whimpered in pain. Such demonstrations of Belinda's willingness to punish Louise severely for even the slightest transgression intensified the bigger woman's acceptance of Belinda's treatment. Since the slightest deviation from her role brought immediate punishment, Louise Larson constantly strove to satisfy the girl’s desires and to ratify her right to use the librarian in whatever way she chose.

Louise Larson lowered herself to one knee, slipped her hands inside the girl's flowered panties, and gently stretched the elastic waistband. She rubbed her cheek against Belinda's calf, just below the knee. The young girl sighed her approval. Louise Larson slid the panties down Belinda’s legs, as she kissed the insides of her thighs. The librarian reached up and touched her mouth to the girl's lower lips. Still holding the panties in one hand, Louise Larson craned her neck, thrust her tongue between Belinda’s lower lips, and licked the girl's moist interior before finding the small sensitive mound. Belinda closed her eyes. Her head lolled back. The experience was still new enough so Belinda found it as exciting as it was satisfying.

“Down,” Belinda said softly from the depths of her pleasure. Louise Larson spread herself face down on the floor of the bathroom. The girl placed a bare foot in the middle of Louise Larson’s back, paused for several seconds before stepping into the warm bubbles. Kneeling next to the tub, Belinda gently soaped the girl’s skin from her neck to her toes, waited a few moments and then, using a fresh washcloth rinsed her off. When Belinda emerged from her wonderful bath, the school librarian wrapped the towel around her and patted the girl dry.

Every moment of every day of the Christmas season Louise served the two youngsters, cooking, cleaning, running from room to room to carry out her assigned errands, sometimes acting as chauffeur. And between her other chores, Louise provided them both unlimited sexual satisfaction.

On this warm day in late spring, Louise Larson struggled along, pulling a chubby, round faced man. Because she was so big, they invariably assigned the heaviest ones to her cart. On the other hand, this would be her last visit. The team’s cut from these rentals would see them to the tournament. “Hey, you big horse,” her driver, a southerner visiting on business, called in a lazy drawl. “Let’s see you run.” His whip cracked across her back and Louise stretched out her long legs, loping forward. “Mah, mah,” he said laughing. “Oh, mah goodness.”