The Fugitive

I was dreaming peacefully when the bus suddenly braked and my head hit the front seat.

"Mothersucker," I said stupidly, embarrassed to say bad words.

I pulled back the curtain and looked out the window at the rural loveliness of my hometown, a town of simple customs, rustic houses, and unhurried people. Everyone, from the children to the elderly, walked at a slow pace, as if time was alien to them, as if even death had stopped to observe the mountain scenery instead of chasing them. I moved to the city just before I turned 15. I don't regret my decision, as the opportunities in a place like this are limited, but I also can't ignore the happiness I feel when I smell that dry, high-altitude air.

I got off the almost empty bus and took out the scarf I had made with my own wool, for it was cold at this hour when the sun was hiding behind the horizon. They say that alpaca wool is the best, and if I were to admit it, I would feel proud, so I will refrain from commenting on that.

The only figure in the station was a distant cousin, he had brown wool that contrasted with mine, which was white and cream. He was barely 16, but already driving the family tractor without a license. In that small town, everyone knew everyone, and the laws were much more flexible. The policeman wouldn't take little Purma to jail, after all, they had eaten together recently at her great-aunt's birthday party.

"Tilcara, how nice to see you," he said without smiling. Maybe he was one of those people who smiled on the inside.

He could be cold, but I was not, I hugged him without a second thought. He eventually returned the hug and patted my head. He was younger than me, but much taller.

The tractor purred, carrying not only the weight of both of us, but also the years it had. It didn't help that the road was so bumpy.

"The study?" Purma asked after a few miles of silence.

"'Tough. Since I'm a freshman, I can't study the subjects I like, but luckily I have a lot of friends to help me." I hesitated before asking, "How's family?"

He sighed deeply and then answered.

"Not very well. Great aunt is very old. You know that. All the uncles and even father are pushing her to make her will, but she won't. She also insists on helping with the farm. Fjord has been a great help, but even he can't keep an eye on her all the time."

"Fjord?"

"Oh, right, you don't know him. Fjord is a farmhand who helps us in exchange for a little food. Some say he fled from a foreign country because he committed a crime. Others say he's really wanted by the Mafia. I don't care, he works hard and is honest."

If I said I didn't find it intriguing, I would be lying. And I was taught that lying was bad, just like swearing.

We finally arrived at the farm at dusk. The cacti, standing tall like imposing soldiers of nature, seemed to greet me, while the colors of the mountains appeared vibrant even in the face of the approaching night. The house, battered by father time, resisted the siege of wind and dryness. For the first time in my life, my great aunt did not open the door to greet me with cookies and milk. That made me sad. Crossing the threshold caused a certain fear in me; that fear turned to sorrow when I saw her still alive, but lying there, withered, like a shadow of what she once was. I tried to smile. She did not smile back, but she reached out to take my hand. It was trembling.

"Tilcara, you've become a city girl. Look at that white wool, those hands without calluses, that shiny braid. You have to get dirty if you want to eat. Do you remember the hardness of the soil and the weight of the hoe?"

I nodded. She fell asleep before I could say anything else.

"Go find Fjord," Purma ordered, "we have to make dinner. He must be near the cistern."

When I came out, the sun had already set. My eyesight was not the best, but I remembered the way. I reached my destination, but there was no one there, just some stone blocks. I looked to both sides.

"Yeah?" came a voice from behind me.

I was startled and stepped back. In front of me stood a figure of enormous proportions. Fjord was a horse with a broad chest and wide arms. He was carrying a block of stone on his shoulder, which he dropped to the side, wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his forearm, and sighed from the effort. I shrugged. I wanted to speak, but I couldn't. I felt like a silly girl. He raised an eyebrow and grimaced.

"You must be Tilcara. Welcome. Now, if you'll excuse me, I gotta fix the cistern."

He turned his back to me. I managed to utter the word 'dinner', but almost in a whisper. He stared at me, and it took him a few moments to understand what I had just said. Then he started toward the house. Halfway there, he looked at me again.

"Are you coming or are you just going to stand there looking at the stars?"

At dinner I sat next to Fjord so I wouldn't have to face him. I don't know why, but I couldn't stop looking at him. That huge mud-colored body drew me to it like the white moon is attracted to Earth. Neither he nor my cousin were talkative, so I tried to have a conversation with my great aunt, but she was too old and repeated a limited number of sentences, as if she were an NPC from the video games I had learned to love in the city.

My old room was cluttered with tools, and Purma had to put everything aside before making the bed.

"Well, if you need anything, I'm in the back," he said, scratching behind his ears. Parts of his head had dreadlocks, he would have to watch his wool and cut it more often so that wouldn't happen. Maybe I really had become a city girl.

The darkness of midnight found me with my eyes fixed on what I thought was the ceiling. The new moon did not allow me to see anything, although if I moved my eyes just a bit to the window, the stars lit up enough for me to know that I had not gone blind. The crickets sang a tune as I tried to convince myself to sleep, but I couldn't stop thinking about Fjord. The mystery of his origin was certainly intriguing. Especially since I was interested in studying journalism in the future. Maybe tomorrow I could ask him about his past. I thought about the clues he had left me: in his massive, sweaty body, in the ease with which he had carried the blocks of stone. Could he lift me up like that? No, what was wrong with me? Suddenly the crickets fell silent and I could hear my own accelerated breathing. And I could think of those black eyes watching me from up there, and that dirty shirt, so tight, and my hand going to my chest, and my fingers reaching up to my breast, as if they had a mind of their own. My nipple was erect, I could feel its relief clearly through the nightgown. I swallowed saliva sonorously as I stroked it with my fingertips. I moaned, then remembered that my family was there and fought to remain silent as I continued to caress my nipple seductively. My legs moved restlessly, trying to lead the horse's spirit to them. I opened my mouth because the air coming in through my nose was not enough, and the other hand gradually roamed my body. My navel, my pelvis, the border between my panties and my tender city skin. The fingers went down to where my camelid cunny began, it felt warm and wet. In my mind, the hand was not mine, but Fjord's. It was he who stroked and squeezed my nipple. It was he who drew circles around my vaginal lips with his strong fingers. It was he who put his fingers, wet with my juices, in my mouth for me to taste. I wanted so much for them to go deep inside me, but I shouldn't. I slid my fingers under my panties and rubbed my cunny faster and faster.

"Fjord," I whispered as a trickle of saliva escaped my mouth and hit the pillow.

I rolled over and squared my shoulders as I bit down hard on the pillow. I moved my wet fingers up to my anus and began to caress it, feeling its warmth, its roughness, then my middle finger penetrated me. The thought of what Fjord's huge penis could be turned me on so much, so much, that one finger was not enough. In, out, in, in, out. My face was so deep in the pillow that I could barely breathe, but that allowed me to moan whenever I wanted as I felt the climax approaching. And it did. A tremor was born in my legs and spread to my shoulders, making me dance a dance like no other. I repeated Fjord's name before pulling my face away from the pillow, as if it were a secret that only the two of us knew now. Pain from the intensity with which I had masturbated appeared in my nipple and ass. I turned the saliva-soaked pillow over and fell asleep.
---
The next day welcomed me with its warm embrace. The roosters announced the dawn and my cousin tugged me to get up. I was a little embarrassed about my weakness last night, but it was a secret only the pillow knew. We had breakfast as a family, but without Fjord. According to what Purma told me, he was still working on the cistern. When we finished, he asked me to come with him. He led me to a place on the land that was overgrown with weeds. He handed me a hoe and left to do something else. I looked at the hoe and sighed.

"I thought the great aunt thing was a joke," I said to myself as I rolled up my sleeves.

It was a shame, I had no work clothes on. I was wearing a beautiful pink and white T-shirt that my friend Ruaha had given me. According to her, she gave it to me because it was too girly for her, but I had a suspicion that she had bought it for me as a gift. After a few minutes of work, I was covered in dirt and sweat. And my hands were burning. I looked at my palms, I had pulled out some of my hair and had raw calluses that had become soft like every day in the city.

"What's wrong with your hands?" Fjord asked as he carried a bucket of water from one place to another. Apparently he had finished with the cistern. Was he being sarcastic?

I didn't answer, deciding to focus on continuing my work. Noticing my pained face, he reached over and grabbed my hands. I looked into his eyes for a moment, then blushed and averted my eyes to his hands, as large and rough as the earth I was plowing. He chuckled, scratched my head and said:

"Your hands don't remember where you came from. The body forgets how hard life can be. It's the best thing that can happen to us."

He turned to leave. I interpreted him to mean himself and cleared my throat to get his attention.

"What do you mean?"

He looked at me again, this time seemingly uncomfortable.

"Never mind, let's leave it at that."

I sat cross-legged and wiped the sweat from my forehead with my already ruined t-shirt.

"I want to rest. I wouldn't mind hearing a story," I swallowed saliva at that moment, my shyness overcoming my curiosity. "If you want... if not, it doesn't matter... I didn't say anything." I looked down at my hooves, embarrassed.

He smiled slightly and sat down opposite me. He dipped his big hand in the bucket and ran it over my forehead. It was cold and it felt good.

"I know why you're doing this, but there's nothing special about me. It's hearsay, nothing more. I'm a foreigner who left his homeland in search of new opportunities. Nothing more, nothing less. I imagine something similar happened to you. You left here looking for a better life."

I smiled slightly. In those moments, I felt like a little girl who hadn't finished growing up.

Fjord stood up, and before he left he held out his hand to help me. I took it, feeling the strength of his fingers before he lifted me up as if I weighed nothing.

"Let's get to work, the food is better when you earn it," he told me.

Around noon I fell down, exhausted and saddened by how little progress I had made. But Fjord was right, lunch tasted better than ever. After we ate, Purma left for town. He had to trade some seeds with a local merchant. I was excused from work due to my injuries and fatigue, so I had free time to lie in the sun and look at the scenery. A parsing text in my backpack begged to be read, but the day was too beautiful to be wasted in dull letters.

I was about to go for a walk when I heard a rumbling sound coming from the west wing of the house. I ran in that direction and discovered that part of the gallery had collapsed. Then I heard Fjord moaning. He was sitting near the collapse, holding his arm. A red liquid was oozing from his tricep.

"Oh, Tilcara, you're not hurt, are you?"

"I'm not. Wait, I'll call the doctor."

"No!" he shouted, then repeated more calmly, "No, I'm fine, it's nothing. Find something to bandage it with."

In an act of desperation, I took off my beautiful pink T-shirt, now ruined, and pressed the wound hard. Fjord wanted to tie it up, but he couldn't with one hand, so I did it for him.

"Thank you."

Since he was sitting and I was bent over, our faces were very close. I noticed he was looking at my breasts, which were only covered by a bra. I looked into his eyes and swallowed saliva. There was a silence, momentary but eternal, and our lips came closer. He changed his expression to one of fear or caution, pulled his head back and stood up.

"I'm gonna disinfect myself," he concluded, as if nothing had happened, and walked toward the house.

I felt something wet on my cheek. It was a tear.

"I'm such a fool."

I spent the rest of the afternoon thinking about what I could to say to him. Thinking about whether or not to say anything. I had no experience in this kind of situation and it showed too much. I saw Fjord mending the gallery that had collapsed. Even with an injured arm, he was extremely skilled. I thought a thousand times about offering to help him, but I was too shy and didn't dare.

Around six o'clock in the evening he got tired and decided to return to the shed, where my family allowed him to stay. I followed him secretly to the door.

"I'm an adult, I can't be that stupid," I thought as I worked up the courage to knock on the door. As I was about to do so, I noticed that it was actually open, so I walked in. Fjord had taken off his shirt and was sitting on a tattered bed, changing his bandage. For a moment he was frozen like a deer in front of a car that was about to hit him. I couldn't help but analyze his nearly naked body. He looked so strong, pearly with beads of sweat and years of manual labor. But there was something else. I approached him and ran my fingers over two scars on his chest. One ran diagonally from his left shoulder to his navel, and the other was very close to his heart. I could tell from the touch that both wounds were quite deep and had been made by a razor or something very sharp. He took the hand with which I was analyzing him and gently moved it away, then pulled me in. Our bodies were almost stuck together. Our faces were so close that I could feel his breath. Then my lips moved closer to his, closer and closer and closer until they met. I sat on his leg and began to caress his body as we kissed. My heart was pounding, but my body knew what to do. It felt natural, irresistible, like a force of nature.

He placed his hands on my cheeks and pulled me away. For a moment I was afraid he would try to stop me, but then he squeezed my lips harder, as if he had just murdered the little voice of reason and finally gave in. His thick, hot tongue darted into my mouth, caressing mine, digging as deep as he could. I felt the strong, salty taste as his breath stroke my face. My hands, resting on his chest, began to move lower and lower until they met the belt. I, still sitting on his leg, began to rub against it, as if it were my city pillow, but harder, wider. I didn't know if the wetness I felt was coming from me or from his sweat, but I didn't care. I didn't care about anything anymore.

Fjord picked me up like a little girl and placed me in front of him while he stood up. I fell to my knees and watched, stunned, as he took off his belt.

"No, no, let me," I said, or begged him, as I unzipped and pulled down the damp, soiled garment, revealing what I had never seen before, but so desperately wanted.

His equine penis was almost completely retracted into his body, but his balls hung out shamelessly. I brought my nose close and smelled them. It wasn't an aromatic scent, but it still felt good to inhale. His penis came out slowly, spurting a stream of pre-cum that I was able to catch with my hands before it hit the ground. I savored it. It was thick and slimy. Then I began to lick the tip of his penis as it continued to grow in size. For a moment I thought it would never stop enlarging. My hands stroked its length. The cock grew harder and squirted another stream of pre, and this time it fell directly into my mouth as I licked the glans.

"Like this," he instructed as he forced me to place my hands at the sides and move them repeatedly from tip to base.

Then he began to moan. I could feel the huge beast pulsating between my hands, and each time it released pre, as if drawing water from a well. I couldn't stand it, it was too much arousal. I had to cum, but I couldn't keep my hands off the thing. Then...

"Wait, wait," he interrupted as he stepped back, "it's my turn."

He picked me up lightly and laid me on my back on his bed. He ripped off the other t-shirt that I had, which was now stained with pre, and removed my bra. I was so nervous. I was breathing shakily and moaning with fear, but he lay on top of me gently and began sucking on one of my nipples, the other he was gently caressing with his fingers. I shook my head back, trying to hold back the desire for him to mount me right away, and as his body was on top of me, I reached for the knee he was leaning on and began to rub myself like a dog.

"Ohh, ohh, ohh," I repeated as the pleasure built.

My nails pressed against his strong shoulders. He took that as a signal to continue and gave me another kiss on the lips before slowly moving down to my genitals, kissing my navel along the way.

"I'm a virgin," I confessed nervously as he pulled down my pants and panties at the same time, completely undressing me for the first time in front of another person.

"Don't worry, I'll be gentle," he parted my lips and added, seeing my hymen, "oh shit, it was true."

Fjord stopped, sat on the side of the bed and continued to talk.

"But how is that possible? You're so beautiful."

I sat up too.

"I don't know, it just didn't happen when I was young. And then time passed and I was ashamed to admit it. All my friends and classmates have had it's first time and I haven't. I'm kind of scared... Well, I'm not anymore," I took his hand and smiled, "not with you."

"You want me to fuck you, are you sure?"

"I don't like to swear," I obfuscated, "but yes."

He smiled ruthlessly. He put a hand on my cheek and caressed my lips with his thumb.

"Then say it, accordingly." With his other hand he began to caress my puffy camelid pussy, opening it, running his finger up and down its length, from my anus to my clitoris.

I began to moan, louder and louder. I licked his thumb before I cried out, "I want you to fuck me!"

"Good girl."

He positioned me on the edge of the bed. Every time he manipulated me like that, I felt like a toy, and that turned me on even more. He spat with his hand and stroked the tip of his cock, which had become flaccid from the conversation, but now had regained hardness, and placed it right at the gates of my paradise. I could feel his heat, his pusal, how his pre-cum joined my juices in a liquid mass, ambrosia of the gods.

"This will hurt. Are you ready?"

I gripped the sheets tightly on either side of my head and spread my legs. From my perspective, I could see my breasts, my raised pubis, my legs, and the huge horse that was about to deflower me. I felt the pressure of the massive member in my pussy as it tore through my hymen, which didn't stand a chance.

"Uhhhhhhhhhggg!" I screamed as I thrust like I was giving birth to a quadruplet.

Finally I felt the tip go in. A rich pain filled me, I knew it would hurt badly when the act was over, but now the pleasure took over and seemed to scream at me more, more, more.

"You're doing great, now I'll put it in halfway, a little at a time."

The cock pulsed inside me, it felt alive, hot, wet. It was amazing. Every millimeter it penetrated me, exploring territory that had never been touched before, bringing me unparalleled pleasure. In a moment I found myself laughing as tears welled up in my eyes. Sex is amazing.

"How are you feeling? Can I continue?"

I couldn't speak because I was breathing so hard, so I nodded. In truth, I wasn't sure if I could handle what was coming, but I wanted to try.

Fjord slowly pulled his cock out until he reached the tip. Just when I thought he was going to pull it out completely, he thrust his hips forward, harder, quicker, and pushed it back in as far as it had gone before, but twice as fast. I felt a tickle go up my spine to the back of my neck. Then he did it again, pulling it almost all the way out and pushing it back in. This time he went deeper. Before I knew it, he was ramming me faster and faster, and my body grew weaker and weaker, until I felt like some kind of jelly shaking in the seat of a moving car. I was no longer moaning, I was screaming, at the top of my lungs. I was screaming from the pain, but more screaming from the pleasure. Every few moments I would shudder again. It was an orgasm. How many had I had? I had lost count.

"Huh, you're too tight! I won't last long."

"Do it, fill me up, I want to feel it!"

He paused for a moment, grabbed my armpits and lifted me up, then dropped me down to be impaled by that huge mass of throbbing flesh. There was a pause, a moment when time stood still, interrupted by the penis as it began to wriggle inside me as if it had a life of its own. It was the pulsations that injected spurts and spurts of cum into my virginal body. I held him tight and let him deposit every drop of his seed into my womb. When he stopped pulsing, the penis instantly shrank. Fjord gently rested me on his bed before pulling it out. With it came a hot, sticky spurt from my tight pussy. I felt swollen anyway, so I pushed a little and another squirt came out, ran along the edge of the bed and fell to the floor. Fjord, after catching his breath, bent down and started licking me. It hurt, and a lot, but it was such a rich pain. And I was so tired. 

I fell asleep and woke up in the middle of the night with Fjord hugging me. I knew I would be in trouble if this got out, so I slipped out of his arms, got dressed and walked as fast as I could to the door. Before I reached it, I hit my head on a box on a shelf and it fell over. Miraculously, in the dark, I managed to catch the only object inside. It felt like a cup. Motivated by curiosity, I went outside and analyzed it under the starlight before bringing it back. It was a metal cup, it looked like gold, with two wings for handles. There was an engraving on the base, but I could not read it because it was written in a mysterious language with strange letters.
---
When I returned to the city the next week, I did some research at the National Library. I typed the description of the cup into the search engine and came up with a newspaper from a very small country I didn't even know. The story said, "The thief of the Royal Cup is presumed dead in a knife fight. He has already been blamed for several million-dollar thefts, including a dozen of art pieces believed to have been sold on the black market."

Needless to say, I never saw Fjord, or whatever his real name is, again. He took nothing from the farm, only my virginity.