She got up and took a bow. Cum was streaming down the insides of her thighs in a creamy river. The men who had finished jerking off, and therefore had both hands free, applauded. She acknowledged their cheers with a happy, contented smile.

Then she got dressed.

Someone led the satisfied burro away and the girl left by herself.

Every man there would have loved to fuck her.

But she was a strange girl.

She only fucked donkeys.

Billy and Hank were so impressed that they went to the nearest bar and looked around for girls to pick up and fuck. But they were in a weakened state, since a good portion of their blood was lodged firmly in their pricks, and so the alcohol went to their heads faster than normal – for Texans – and they soon became too drunk to make a conquest. They staggered back to their hotel and, in the privacy of their separate rooms… who can say if those tall Texans did, or did not, jack off?

In the morning, hungover and red-eyed, Hank Suchard wrote his weekly letter to his long, leggy, lusty wife in Dallas.

Hank had been so greatly impressed by the donkey show that he simply couldn't resist the impulse to write about it, and he did so. It wasn't as if he had done anything wrong, himself, he reasoned. He had just watched the bizarre performance as he would have a blue movie or a naughty nightclub act, and he didn't expect his wife to be angry.

Nor was she.

But that letter from Hank Suchard to his lovely wife was going to have astonishing repercussions…

CHAPTER TWO

When Linda Suchard read her husband's letter she was amazed and had to pour herself a good, stiff drink – in lieu, perhaps, of a good, stiff prick. After a while she started to giggle about it, imagining how Hank and Billy must have looked as they watched the donkey perform. Then she imagined how the donkey and the girl must have looked, and that led to another stiff drink.