The Fillies of Three Ferns Farm (3 page)

“
There you go, Sweetie-girl,” he said, patting her on her rump. “I find that calms down the mares for the rest of their bath. Feeling good?” Good was an understatement. Her whole body was relaxed and warm, and she saw the watching rider smile a bit as she went about her business, going in the stall to tend to her own horse. Conner hosed her off again from head to tail then filled a bucket with water, adding soap to it as he did. He washed her down with a large, soft sponge. It was a very sudsy soap, and she was slick from neck to toes in no time. He lingered at her breasts, passing the sponge over and over them. When she was entirely covered in soft, white suds he dropped the sponge into the bucket and used his fingers, massaging her and working the soap into all her nooks and crannies. He lifted her heavy tits to wash underneath them, then passed his thumbs over her erect nipples. He ran his hands down her back and her ass, and she blushed furiously as she washed her asscrack as thoroughly as he had every other part of her. When he got to her feet he tapped on one of them until she raised it, then washed and massaged it. He did the other one, then worked his way all the way back up her body, rubbing his hands over her as if looking for spots he had missed. He worked the suds into her pubic hair, and then picked up a bottle of Mane-and-Tail wash which he gently massaged into the hair on her head. After several long minutes of scalp massage he picked the warm water hose back up and began to rinse her carefully from head to toe, sluicing the excess water off of her as he went with broad, swift strokes of his hand. When he was finished he turned off the water. For a moment she was disappointed that it was all over, but he took a tub of thick, white cream from his grooming kit. Picking her feet up one after the other, he held them just as he would hold a horse's foot, kneeling and supporting her shins on his knee and he worked the cream into the soles of her feet and between each toe. It felt wonderful and she found herself making pleased little moans. When he had finished her other foot he put the small tube back in and brought out a bottle. “This will help your coat shine, girl,” he said. He squirted a generous portion into his hand and started massaging her. He began at her neck and shoulders then all the way down to her back stopping just short of the curve of her generous ass. Then he brought his hands around her front, starting at her tummy and working his way up until he was cupping and rubbing at her breasts, then over her nippes, and gently caressing her neck. She leaned backward, her lotioned back pressing into his bare chest as he poured more into his hand and continued to slowly massage it into her skin. He brought his hands back around behind her and rubbed her ass with slowly, deliberate circles, making sure to work it generously into the crack. She blushed and he kneeled down, making sure to work it in between her thighs, over her calves, and all the way down to her ankles. He stood back up, rubbing the excess lotion off on his chest, and walked around in front of her. He eyed her appraisingly “Hmmm, you still look a little restless. Would it help you if I gave you one more rub down?”

His hand slipped between her thighs as he said it, leaving nothing open to interpretation. She whickered quietly into his shoulder and closed her eye as his finger gently slid between her lips and teased them apart. He played with her clit first, rubbing it gently with soft hands until the flesh on her shoulders and ass began to quiver. Then he slowly and gently pushed two fingers up inside of her, exploring and probing then thrusting in and out gently. He alternated finger fucking her then slipping out and moving the hood to rub at her engorged clit with hands freshly slickened by her own juices. With his free hand, he reached around to massage her trembling ass. “You're a good gal, aren't you, Sweetie?” he said soothingly and seductively into her ear. “Your name suits you because you're a sweet little filly.” She moaned and hung from the cross tie ropes, all of her trembling as she came closer and closer to her climax. He rubbed and smacked at her ass and worked her pussy tirelessly until with another plaintive whinny she came a second time and slumped, using the ropes to support herself.

He smiled and slowly withdrew his hands, washing them in the nearby bucket. She thought for sure he was finished but Conner was a man of details. Before he finished he took out a wide tooth comb and brushed out her shoulder length, dark brown hair until it flowed tangle free. Not since she was a little girl had anyone brushed her hair- and never before had a man done it! She relaxed once again into his touch. When at last he was finished, he picked up a thick towel and industriously rubbed her down, drying her completely and exfoliating her skin. Then he walked back to the tack room and returned with a curious thing. It was a blanket, quilted and made just like many horse blankets she had seen before. He put it over her shoulders and fastened it around her neck. It hung and draped something like a cloak and went all the way down to her ankles. When she lay down, she would be able to pull her feet up underneath it. It was wonderfully warm and soft. She had never felt so relaxed before.

Conner unhooked her and put her back on the lead. He led her to the middle of the stable, where her harness and various other bits of newly acquired tack hung neatly next to a tiny plaque with the words
‘Sweet Caroline.’
He pulled the door open and, clucking, lead her inside. He unhooked and slipped off her rope halter which he also hung on her door. “I'll be right back,” he said, ducking out. He actually left the stable and she wondered where he had gone, but presently he returned with two strange buckets. They were black plastic with long silver handles, the like of which she had seen a million times in barns. They were only a quarter of the depth of a horses bucket, though, and she realized that one held fresh clear water and the other must be her dinner! The buckets were shallow to allow her to eat and drink from them without her hands. He hung them from the inside wall of her stall and patted her affectionately. “Bon appétit, Sweetie,” he said with a grin. “It's getting late so I thought you might like to get settled in. The lights go out at 9:00 but there's a lamp if you want light later than that. I'll see you again, soon. If you don't mind, until you have an owner I think I'd like to be your regular groom.” She whinnied her enthusiastic approval of the suggestion and he laughed. “Get some rest,” he advised as he pulled the stall door closed. “It's a big day tomorrow!” She watched him as he walked, whistling, down the long row of stalls and out the door. She was shocked to see it was already dark outside. Had her grooming really taken so long?

Suddenly, her stomach growled and she thought it was time to investigate the food. It proved to be a savory oatmeal casserole. She couldn't help but smile. What an appropriate meal for a human equine! It was easy to eat without hands, and she did so, delicately nibbling bites as she looked around her new accommodations. The ground was covered thickly with soft, fragrant straw. Over in the back left-hand corner there was a little cot with neatly folded blankets. In the opposite corner, not in view of her door, there was a spartan toilet and sink. She was relieved that she had her own facilities, but slightly embarrassed when she noticed that there was no screen. At the foot of her bed was her own little suitcase. She contemplated its contents. There was an outlet in the wall. She could get out her Upad and surf the 'net a little before bed. But no, that would break the wonderful chain of events that left her feeling so truly equine. She shook her head and drank from her water bucket. The water was crisp and slightly sweet and she realized there was crushed mint in it. Then she pulled one of the blankets from the bed and lay it in the lush, thick straw. It was just enough to protect her naked skin from prickles. She had slept in a hayloft often enough as a child to find her bed comfortable, and she nestled down in her fragrant nest happily, tucking her feet under the horse blanket that still hung from her shoulders. She drifted off to the sounds of rustling straw and the sleepy breathing of the ponies and horses in the nearby stalls. Never before had she felt so relaxed and at home. She had woken up this morning a nervous, excited woman scared witless about her first kink retreat. She fell asleep a beautiful and happy ponygirl, dreaming of the morning that would come and all it brought with it.

Madame Carnegie's Best Broodmare

***

Goldie woke before the dawn, every inch of her skin alive with anticipation. She snuggled down in the deep straw under her blanket and took a moment to dwell on the pleasures of the coming day. She was tempted to masterbate, but she wanted to save every last drop of her arousal until the game began so she resisted, forcing herself to go no further than clenching and unclenching her moist cunt.

Today was the day she would be bred.

Granted, being bred was what Goldie did
every
time she came to Three Ferns Farm for their world famous ponyplay retreats. She was a broodmare, which meant that the majority of her time was spent having coordinated sex directed by her dear owner, Madame Lyn Carnegie. But time was going to be special because Goldie had a big,
big
secret.

All her life, Goldie had wanted a child. In her real life away from the barn and the bite, however, the spunky palomino ponygirl was an attorney with very little time for dating. The men she had met tended to be schmarmy, well... bastards. She never managed to find someone she was willing to share her life with, and at 39 she knew her days were numbered. Goldie wasn't the type to be held back by social convention, and she had money enough to raise a child alone comfortably. Initially she had decided on sperm donation, but every time she read a brochure her mind had inevitably drifted back to her ponyplay retreats.
After all,
she thought as she sat up and stretched luxuriously.
Everyone who comes to these things has to have a clean background check and a clean physical six months and immediately before joining in a retreat. Almost everyone here tend to be fairly successful. When you get right down to it, what do sperm donating men have other than clean backgrounds and a reasonable level of intelligence?

Nothing, that's what. She had thought long and hard about it. It wasn't exactly
ethical.
She was one of the relatively few broodmares who allowed sex without condoms, but her papers listed her method of birth control. Intentionally impregnating herself was dishonest. But, in the end, her lust and desire had won out.
It's not as if I'll be after anyone for child support. I mean, I won't know WHO the sire will be, and I guarantee you I make as much or more than every one of them. I don't need help. I just need a little sperm
Yes, she could get that sperm in a more conventional manner, but this was going to be so, so much more fun.

Light started to creep through under the barn door. She leaned on the door to her stall, admiring her shiny, permanent name plaque. “All That Glitters” was worked in beautiful scrolling letters an an appropriately golden background. This was the first time that she was staying in the main barn, a location exclusive to human equines who had permanent owners at Three Ferns Farm. Around her, signs of life from the other stalls indicated that others were starting to wake and prepare for their days. Mornings often started early on the farm, though some ponies were kept up at night and it was generally considered good manners to be quiet in the barn until quite late in the morning.

“Goldie!” An excited whisper came from the stall on her right. It was Gypsy, a woman who identified as a gypsy vanner and who had been coming to Three Ferns even longer than Goldie. Her show name was Gypsy Moon and her name plaque had a big, full harvest moon on the corner. She was also the only person in the entire world who knew Goldie’s secret. “Today’s the day, isn’t it?”

Goldie grinned and walked over to the wall between them so that they could whisper to each other more comfortably. At the farm, this kind of sneaky talking between the human equines was referred to as “Black Beautying.” Goldie was always glad that Gypsy was a Black Beauty-er. She wasn’t sure she could make it through a whole day without gossiping with her best buddy. The pair kept in close touch when they were apart in their normal lives via emails and telephone. Being next door to Gypsy was probably the best thing about getting moved into the main bar. “It sure is! Madame said that we would get started early and go all day. It sounds like she has a
lot
of stallions and someone’s going to film the whole thing.”

“And you’re really going through with it?”

“Yep! And it’s a good time of the month. It couldn’t be better timed.”

Gypsy squealed and jumped up and down in the soft straw of her stall. “Eee! That’s so exciting. I’ll be thinking fertile thoughts for you. And that reminds me... I know something you don’t know!” The last was said in a sing-song voice. Goldie was instantly curious.

“What?” she asked, leaning even closer to the wall between them. “Don’t hold out on me, girl!”

“Wellllll,” Gypsy was obviously in the mood for being coy. “Yesterday I got to be a teaser mare for a stallion. They got out at least six loads from him. I am almost certain that his jizz is meant for you. Should help things along, shouldn’t it?”

Goldie shuddered with increased anticipation. “Oh I love it when Madame does artificial insemination! And what good timing! Oh god I am going to explode.”

“You better wait to explode until after it’s all over! It would be such a waste if you didn’t.” Gypsy giggled but went instantly quiet as the barn doors slid open. The click of boots was audible over the quiet murmurings of the ponygirls and ponyboys in their stalls. Goldie whickered in greeting as her mistress and permanent owner, Madame Lyn Carnegie, appeared before her stall door. This was not her real name, but unlike her relationship with Gypsy, Goldie didn’t know anything about her mistress outside of the farm. She preferred it that way.