Chapter Text
The Barn
There was something comforting about the old barn, the way it felt so isolated from the world outside, especially on a gloomy, overcast day like today. It was always dim in here, even on bright, sunny, days; it was cool when it was hot, and warm when it was cold, and the the musty smells of hay mingling with the earthy smell of the animals was, somehow... Comforting. Most of her chores were done for the day; the sheep were in their pen, the cows had been milked and were politely mooing it up in their stalls; all that remained was to give the horse a good brushing now that her stall had been mucked out and some fresh bedding and food set out for her. They only had the one mare, and she was starting to get up there in years so they tried to treat her well, since getting a new one and training it would be a nightmare at this point.
She had the horse tied to a beam in the center of the barn, a pile of hay bales behind her. With a sticky oat and carrot treat in one hand and brush in the other, she approached, offering the snack to the beast in the palm of her hand. "Hey there, Girl, looking forward to a nice, clean, bed tonight?" The horse, of course, did not respond. Though she did eat the treat, her lips tickling against pale palm as they sought any and all trace of the delicious snack before she pulled her hand away, wiping it clean on her overalls. "Well, let's just... Finish up and you can get some sleep." With a nervous smile, she stepped aside and began to gently brush the mare's chestnut coat with the big, sturdy, broom-like pad the mare liked best. The mare's name was Buttercup, and her mom always brushed her mane and tail first - but she, personally, thought Buttercup liked it like this, more. Starting with the gentle scrubbing of her coat before finishing with the styling of her mane.
There was, however, one other thing Buttercup liked, and as she finished brushing both sides of the mare; she set the brush down and ran a hand along the horse's side, feeling an almost anxious warmth blossoming in her chest. "Are you ready, Girl?" She took the following snort to be an agreement, the horse raising her head - almost as if she could actually understand her. "Alright..." With a glance at the barn doors, closed but not locked, she stepped away from the horse and undid the straps of her overalls, letting them fall to the floor.
Matilda - Tilly to most, Mattie to some - would never have called herself attractive, she wouldn't have even ventured interesting. In truth, she often felt herself fearing the worst any time she looked in a mirror. At ten years old she was tall for her age and skinny, her skin pale as milk and positively covered in freckles from cheek to cheek - something she was remarkably self conscious about. In fact, she was self conscious about most of her body, whether it was her wild, curly, mess of frizzy orange hair - there was simply nothing she could do with it, save for getting drenched which would straighten it out until it dried - or the slowly budding mounds of her freckle smattered breasts capped with fat, puffy, nipples the colour of cocoa powder that stood out through any, and ever, shirt she ever wore, or even her cock. Like the rest of her body it was long and skinny - relatively speaking - ghostly blue veins forming a gross, bumpy, map beneath pale flesh and ending in a fat, heavy, head that swung past her knees. A girl in town once compared her to a mule, much to her embarrassment, and the name had stuck - it'd stuck for years, and at this rate it was probably going to outlive her. Mattie the Mule. Just thinking about it made her stomach twist. It wasn't even that skinny! That was the worst part! She wished it was - but every time she pressed a hand tight to the stupid thing, no matter how hard she squeezed her thumb and middle finger never even managed to touch...
That was, in fact, what she did now; half hoping her dick might have shrunk in the night, overlarge and uneven teeth biting down on her lip as she felt her palm caress the side of her sensitive shaft, fingers gripping as tight as they could. Squeezing in a vain effort to try and stretch about her own girth, and once more failing to bridge the gap. And, in seconds, feeling that gap widen as the long, flaccid, member began to heat up and fatten in her own grip; a wild thrill streaking through her. She knew she shouldn't be doing this. Any of this, really. She shouldn't be naked, she shouldn't be touching herself, and she definitely shouldn't be doing any of it with Buttercup. But... She looked up at the horse, a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth, and with one hand still on her shaft, she began to climb the hay bales.
She stood behind Buttercup, reaching out with her free hand to take hold of the horse's tail and lift it -the soft, wet, noise of her hand moving along her rapidly rising length sounding almost too loud in the barn now, the sensation of hot, slimy, foreskin rolling back and forth across the fat, bloated, crown of her cock making her shiver. Sometimes she hated how gross she was - slimy, sweaty, smelly - her balls were fat and heavy too; when she aired them out after her chores she swore she smelled like a barn... Everything down there got in the way, even her lower lips were just too much, fat and fleshy like everything else between her legs, hungrily swallowing up her panties and bulging around her shorts when she bent over... It was embarrassing! Just thinking about this - the awkwardness of her own body - made her cheeks burn scarlet, her cock a rigid, throbbing, mast in her grip; a grimy flow of pre-cum oozing down its length and across her fingers as she pressed the bloated, bulbous, tip against the mare's puffy cunt and without further introspection she pressed forward, sinking herself deep into her beloved Buttercup.
It was heaven. It was always heaven. Wet heat grasped at her sensitive length, inch after inch buried in equine cunt, her forward motion stopped only by the faint resistance of a barrier within the mare's depths. Her entire body quivered as she felt muscles clench at her cock; squeezing - pulling at her, as if to draw her in deeper. Embarrassingly, Buttercup was stronger than she was and it was almost a struggle just to pull her hips back, feeling the horse milking her the whole way; the fat head of her cock tugging, briefly, at Buttercup's entrance before she pushed forward again, and again - every thrust bringing forth a squeaky grunt of effort, her breath high and hot, her face burning with effort as she fucked the horse - her horse. One hand still held Buttercup's silver-white tail, the other came to rest on the beast's rump, sweaty palm stroking the curve of the creature's rear. Every thrust forward she could feel that deep barrier relent just a little - bowing before her, spreading. Her legs were spread, her heavy balls swinging between skinny thighs, mingled sweat and other fluids running down the pale skin of her sack to drip and drop across the hay, tickling as it ran down her back and between the crack of her ass; her cunt aflame, drooling as she plowed the mare, slowly battering her way into the the hungry, waiting, womb as she had many nights before.
She felt the lurch, her entire body heaving forward; forearms hitting Buttercup's hips as she was swallowed into the deepest depths her mated mare could offer, her entire body tense and trembling - sweat running down the bridge of her nose as she tried to catch her breath. She hadn't managed to fit all of her dick into the mare; that hadn't been possible for a while now, not that it didn't still feel good. Amazing. Wonderful. Struggling to push herself upright without tugging on Buttercup's tail, she let out a breathless chuckle, her hips wriggling; fitful back and forth motions as she hovered on the edge of climax, rather than long, full, strokes. "Imagine..." She whispered, giving up on this effort and laying her head down, resting it upon the mare's back - reaching out with her free hand to rub at the horse's flank. Her eyes closing tight. Toes curling. She was so close. "I-if... I could..." Almost - she was right on the edge. The words right on the tip of her tongue, a fantasy she oft thought of but feared to entertain; the simple notion of leaving Buttercup fat and full with a foal or two.
"Matilda Greenspond! What in the blazes are you doing?!" She never heard the barn doors opening, but the sound of her mother's voice was sharper and clearer than any creaking wood or screeching hinge. Her entire body ran cold for a mere instance, and then it burned - there was no stopping what had begun. She clung to Buttercup, waves of prickly heat crawling across her body, her balls aching - drawing up towards her body as every muscle tensed and clenched. She could barely breathe, but she had to say say something - had to convince her mom to go away before she...
"Ma, I'm - just..." Her voice cracked, pitching up to a whine, her hips jerking forward, the squishy wet noise of her shaft sliding deeper into Buttercup's slimy, wet, hole seemed almost deafening to her right now. "B-brushing Buttercup!" The horse's name dissolved into a breathy grunt as her entire body gave a hard, urgent, push and she saw dazzling, white, stars dancing before her eyes; a hot fluid rush spiraling wildly from between her legs, flooding into the gentle beast before her with several, steady, geyser-like pumps. And then she fell limp, practically draped across Buttercup's backside, panting for breath as the heavy sound of her mother's footsteps approached; clearly none too happy with her response.
"Don't you 'Ma' me young lady! Here I am slaving away over a hot stove so we can have something to eat and boiling water so we can get a bath - and you're out here playing pervert with the animals!" She had tried to say anything else but could only mumble, and incoherently at that, as Buttercup's powerful internal muscles continued to squeeze her, massaging her spent tool, making her go cross-eyed as her hips wriggled involuntarily. This wasn't fair - her mom was here, yelling at her, and if Buttercup didn't stop she'd blow again, and in front of her mom... There was another again there, but she tried not to think it, the mere thought made her stomach feel weird, her breath hitching in her chest as the horse's cunt gave a tight clench and at once she knew this was it, she was doomed. "Wouldn't know if I raise you in a barn..." Her mother huffed and puffed, her anger was mostly bluster. "I should make you sleep here tonight, instead of making a mess of our nice, clean, house..." But the only thing Tilly could do was groan, practically pleading. With herself, with Buttercup. With the any of the gods that might be listening.
"Nuh-nooo, p-please, M-ahhh~" Her hips jerked forward again, hard - she felt the impact before she heard it, the wet clap of her balls slapping harshly against Buttercup's belly as she buried her entire length into the horse, her entire body shaking as she came for a second time - her cock unloading what felt like everything her balls had to offer as a hot, slimy, deluge of fluid gushed from her own cunt, soaking her thighs and sack. She couldn't even remember what she'd been trying to say, her words and thoughts vanishing in a foggy haze of overwhelming pleasure as she clung to the horse for dear life, as if her orgasm was a powerful flood set to wash her away.
Time might as well have stopped, seconds sprawling for an eternity - her mother's voice becoming nothing more than a persistent drone in the background as she came, her senses only jerking back into reality when she felt a massive hand clap down on her shoulder and give her a firm shake. "Are you listening to me? I said get that filthy hide of yours inside, now!" She had missed whatever lecture her mother had given her, and dazedly stepped back onto legs that felt like jelly, every motion making her shiver and shudder as her overstimulated dick dragged back through Buttercup's sloppy, twitching, cunt - stopping when she felt resistance, the swollen mass of her head almost stuck. She gave a tug and felt her knees threaten to give out, but she also felt the weight of her mother's glare bearing down on her like a thousand tons of guilt made manifest. Buttercup gave a startled snort when she gave a hard pull and stumbled backwards - falling briefly, her back hitting the rearmost bale of hay stacked behind her, her dick popping free from the mare's now gaping hole with a loud, wet, pop, a thick deluge of slimy, white, spunk splashing across the barn floor and the lowest stack of hay, eliciting a tsk of disapproval from her mother. "Now get." Her mother unfolded her arms, pointing sternly towards the open barn doors. "Go ready the bath, I'll be in once I've put Buttercup to bed."
Tilly wanted to protest, but she was always... Afraid of talking back to her mother. She never had a reason for it! Her mother never hit her, or beat her, and despite the occasional threat; never actually made her sleep in the barn. In fact, she was almost certain that her mother would have slept in the barn herself before ever actually making her do it. But she always struggled to raise her voice, or speak up if she was being scolded. Just that disapproving look filled her with shame and by the time she rose to her feet, she could feel her erection wilting, slimy shaft slapping against her leg. Thankfully her mother wasn't, actually, there to notice this; the woman having walked away to untie Buttercup, stroking the mare's mane with one hand and asking her if she was okay. She wanted to tell her mother that Buttercup was okay, and that she was pretty sure the mare would have kicked her or something if she wasn't - but after giving the two a final look, she simply sulked off, naked, towards the barn doors and out into the chilly, gloomy, evening.
It didn't just look like there was a storm on the way, it smelled like one too; the air was crisp and cold, the splattered traces of her, and Buttercup's, fluids smearing across her legs as her rapidly softening shaft slapped from leg to leg cooled quickly and became a cold, sticky, syrup smeared across both thighs. They didn't have the biggest farm in the region, but considering it was just her and her mother: there was a lot of wasted space. The barn opened up onto the big, grassy, field that was the majority of their property. While they did grow some crops - her mother mostly took care of them - those were largely for their own consumption; most of what they sold in town came from their animals. Mostly milk and wool, in particular. When the weather was fair they let most of the animals roam the field to eat grass and exercise. They never, really, had to worry about predators getting in over the fencing and causing troubles; wolves were rare enough, but the few times any did, Bailey - the herd dog of theirs - took care of it. As much as she loved her mother, Tilly had to admit that Bailey was probably the hardest worker on the farm, keeping all of the animals in line and any threats out both day and night without complaint! It was just a shame she had some other canine lover out there, given how many puppies she'd been bearing the past few year or two...
While their house had a back door that would have gotten her straight into the kitchen; she wasn't thinking particularly clearly as she walked around the barn - almost forgetting she was still naked - and began to make her way towards the front of their property. There the grass veered off into a steep slope down into a marshy canal that ran up down towards the town where it joined a much larger stream that coursed through the town itself. Their farm was effectively separated from the main road by a small stone bridge, their mail box on the far end of said bridge along with a big wooden bin chained to the post for any larger objects that might be delivered or picked up - just to spare couriers the time of having to cross the bridge and knock on the door when both she and her mother might be busy. The road itself was never busy, just a long and dusty stretch from the town leading off to... Wherever it went: Tilly had no clue, she'd never, really, been curious enough to find out. On a few, rare, occasions she'd ventured a couple of farms down and it really just seemed to be farmland as far as the eye could see! So she assumed it just connected to another town somewhere out there.
Unusually for this hour; the road wasn't entirely empty. Something she realized with deepening humiliation as she stumbled, naked, over her own feet upon noticing the two small faces staring in her direction from across the bridge. She recognized them right away, of course; Daisy and Marigold, the two youngest from the neighboring farm: they were out awfully late, but before she could ask what they were doing out and about at this hour, the two of them took off - giggling and laughing a harsh, jagged language she didn't understand, but at least recognized as dwarvish; the rapid patter of bare feet trailing off into the deepening dusk of the night before she could even react in any way beyond attempting to cover herself with her hands: an entirely nonsensical act only rendered even more foolish by the fact that she'd moved to cover her chest before any of the more offensive bits. Not wanting to be spotted by any other errant pedestrians, Tilly hurried inside.
Their home wasn't large, for the same reason that their farm wasn't large - that their lives weren't large. It simply... Didn't need to be. Tilly was, as far as she knew, an only child and while she did know that her mother had family... Somewhere, out there, in the greater and wider world: she'd only ever met any of them once or twice, and she couldn't even remember those times! Maybe that was for the best, though. Her mother didn't seem to ever like talking about their family, whether it was her aunts and grandparents, or whoever, or whatever, her other parent might be. So it was just the two of them. Their bedrooms were upstairs, along with a couple of empty rooms that were, allegedly, guest rooms: but it wasn't like they had guests, ever. Everything else was down here, on the ground and she awkwardly did her best to scrape her bare soles clean on the little rug her mother always told her to use to stomp out her muddy boots before heading inside proper, her nose almost immediately greeted with the mouth watering scent of a roast, seasoned to near perfection, wafting from the kitchen. Her mother had said she'd been cooking... And in response to this, her stomach gave a petulant growl. But rules were rules: no supper until after they'd washed up.