The next few months passed far too quickly. Her return sent shockwaves through the dark and depraved corners of the world, and the response was overwhelming. Baybea loved every second of it. She was glowing by the next day, and everyone seemed to notice. It was like slipping into an old, comfortable sweater. The money, the fame, the physical anticipation of carrying something that would make her another fortune, it all just felt . . . right.

Both inside and out, things were growing. Baybea could measure her growth almost by the day, and Varrin became a frequent visitor to her homestead. Each time, he brought along hired help and armloads of material, clearly planning some ‘modifications’ to the falabella’s abode. She didn’t mind, as long as he steered clear of her and her daughters.

	It was around the four-week mark where Baybea noticed something amiss. She seemed tired all the time, too tired to keep up with her two daughters. She was hungry almost constantly, and she so nauseous at times she needed a ginger supplement just to continue functioning. Her online shows dropped in frequency once again until she had to resort to auctioning off viewer slots. The bidding was sky-high, and for the moment she was making almost twice as much money in half the time. How odd, she thought, that making herself scarce was actually better for business!
	
	Varrin was busy turning two of Baybea’s unused stalls into a studio. He made sure there was plenty of room for cast, crew, and equipment in addition to lots of natural light. Having reviewed some of his previous work, he found himself detesting studio lighting more and more - the natural light gave the production more of that ‘amateur’ look that consumers craved. Baybea checked on him frequently, both to supervise his work and to show off her rather dynamic figure. Varrin was thrilled at first, but began to show concern at the speed at which she was ballooning.

The zebra’s claims were dismissed by Baybea until she started trying on some of her costumes from her last pregnancy. The outfit she wore at the end of her first trimester was already getting tight. She couldn’t imagine dancing like this, never mind dancing for another four months like she did before.

The next morning, she sent Varrin away at first light to buy a portable ultrasound. It was a considerable expense, but she needed to find out what was going on, and going to a conventional doctor wasn’t an option. It was set up between the two of them that evening, and before long the thudding of heartbeats echoed off the walls. 

But it wasn’t just mother and child being heard through the machine. There was an indistinct throbbing that was hard to make out through the pitiful speakerphone. The screen was no more helpful - just blobs of light blue and dark blue. But there looked to be more legs in there than one foal should have. . .

Baybea blinked, and turned to Varrin.

Varrin was glued to the screen. Baybea watched him point to the screen and count under his breath before turning to meet her gaze.
“. . . Twins.”

***

Twins.

Baybea repeated it like a mantra. This shouldn’t be possible, she thought, equines didn’t do twins. It just doesn’t happen. 

She did some research, seeing just how often something like this happened. Obviously a case like hers was rather unprecedented, so she started browsing reports on domestic, feral mares. What she found disturbed her: 

Her feral kin had a twin rate of less than one percent. 

Of that one percent, less than half survived to term.

Of the twins born alive, more than four out of five were stunted and weak, perishing within days. Many sites recommended “solving” the “problem” within a month after conception. Baybea had already missed that boat.

There was nothing pleasant about her findings. Baybea printed out her research and showed it to the zebra, who had practically moved in by this point. She would never admit it, but she was thankful for the company, even if he was callous and aloof. Varrin furrowed his brow and flared his nostrils as he read. The mare could read his concern even through his normally stern visage. 

“I need to make some calls,” he muttered, taking the paper and clomping away. 

“To where?” Baybea asked. She didn’t get an answer.

The two of them hardly saw each other after that. Baybea spent all of her time with her children after the unfortunate news, and Varrin threw himself into his work until he got the answer he was looking for.

“I found someone,” he told her, “Someone who’s willing to work around this little ‘discovery’ of ours.”

Baybea perked up and listened intently.

“He was a medical professional of some renown until he lost his license a few years back. Doctor-patient relationships and all that. Would have been bad enough if he was working with his own kind, but the fact that he was a vet kind of sent people over the edge.”

Baybea covered her muzzle and giggled. “Who doesn’t love doggies and horsies?” she replied, trying to bring her stage persona back to the fore. 

Varrin shrugged his broad shoulders and smiled wryly. “The public demonized him,” he continued, “and he was forced to live under the radar for a few years. He’s, uh, familiar with some of your earlier works I believe, he's a big fan.”

The filly clapped her hands together. “I love meeting fans!”

“Who doesn’t? He was chomping at the bit to meet you in person, pardon the phrase, I don’t think it’ll be a problem ‘compensating’ him for his services, if you know what I mean,” he winked.

Baybea giggled. She knew.

	The ‘professional’s’ name was Allan Kane, “Doctor Kane” until the general public figured out what really went on after hours when animals were booked overnight for ‘observation’. He was a slender-looking feline a few inches shorter than Varrin, and probably about fifty pounds lighter. He had an unassuming, average figure aside from the stark blackness of his fur. He had probably heard more ‘bad luck’ jokes than Baybea cared to count. From the moment they met, she knew he was a charmer. Professional yet shy, and only slightly jaded by his experience, maybe even a little star-struck. When Varrin asked him if he was bitter about being called back to an industry that ruined him, he only smiled politely and said that his ‘extended sabbatical’ had done him a world of good.

	Allan examined the mini-mare with Varrin’s little machine, and quickly widened his eyes.

	“When you said she was an ‘interesting case’, Varrin, you didn’t mention anything like this,” he told the zebra casually, staring at the fuzzy blue display on the tiny monitor. “Miss, I could publish at least three theses on the contents of your uterus,” he stated flatly, “If the world still cared anything for what I had to say. Pity.”

	Baybea giggled, unsure of whether to take the feline’s cold remarks as a compliment.
	
	“I’ll need to get you hooked up to a bigger machine,” he continued with a turn of his head, “Is there a TV or computer we can plug the wand into?”

Varrin shook his head. “There’s no way of plugging this one into anything . . .”

Allan grinned. “I think you’re forgetting I used to run my own practice. All that equipment had to go somewhere, and at that point I was still too bitter to sell it off. I have the kind of ultrasound that they don’t sell to you folks. We can hook it up to a big screen, take pictures, send it out to the world, and everyone wins. I get my research and a place to stash my tools, our young star gets peace of mind, and you suddenly have one heck of an advertising campaign for your little show.”

Baybea and Varrin agreed. Over the course of several days Allan’s old equipment was brought over and stored in one of the insulted lofts, the ageing ultrasound machine brought over last and hooked up to a much newer, larger television screen.

	An exam table was set up from re-purposed crates from the barn, and in no time at all Baybea’s twins lit up the screen in all their blurry glory. Allan gleefully pointed out what the different hues meant, rubbing the frigid, gel-coated wand over her taut belly. He took time to try and ‘zero in’ on each foal’s thundering heart until the sound echoed off the walls.

“Strong and healthy,” he beamed, “Exactly what we want to see! See the blue line down the middle of the screen,” he pointed, “It means each twin has its own sac, like water balloons inside a water balloon. It means there’s no chance of those legs getting tangled up, which is good for us!”

Varrin cleared his throat, interrupting. “So what does the good doctor recommend for handling a case like this?”

Allan lifted the wand from Baybea’s abdomen. “I would induce her as soon as the foals are viable, the longer they stay in, the harder they’re going to be to get out. Until then, no strenuous activity, not that she could manage much anyways.”

	Baybea scoffed, leaning her head up so she could see the two of them above her globular belly.

“Now,” Allan began, his tone changing slightly, “there is the matter of my payment . . .”

Varrin tilted his head and lowered his ears. “What about it?”

“I’m not sure the original amount is going to cover it,” he continued, “This is a much more delicate case than I was expecting, and I’d just hate to see something happen to her just because I didn’t have the funds for the proper equipment.”

	Varrin scowled, but Baybea gave the zebra a wink. “Why don’tcha check on the girls, stripes?” she swooned, rolling around slightly and raising her hips off the exam table under the guise of getting comfortable. “The doctah an’ ah’ll discuss terms in private!” 

Varrin threw up his arms and left the room with a haughty swish of his black tail. “Take yer time!” Baybea called after him with a grin.

Allan kept looking over his shoulder long after he was gone. “Relax,” Baybea nickered, raising her hips to shimmy out of her pants, “He won’t be back for a looong time, y’know?”

Still, Allan was hesitant. “Are you sure?” he mumbled, shifting uncomfortably. 

“Oh, Ah’m sure,” she replied, raising one leg and letting her underwear dangle off her heel, “He’s the frugal sort. Any way he can pay ya without actually payin’ ya will work for him! And you know how much Ah’m worth!”

Allan afforded himself a small chuckle. He could feel his ears beginning to flush. How could she be so shameless, he wondered? And how could a respectable professional like him be falling for it?

The feline’s pants hit the floor with a jingle. He kept his shirt on, rather self-conscious after seeing the amount of ‘candid’ videos the filly had made. He loomed over the table and reached to flick the ultrasound machine off, but Baybea grabbed his wrist before he could.

“Leave it on,” she nickered, “I want to hear you make their hearts race~”

The feline was sold. He couldn’t get inside her fast enough! The filly welcomed his textured feline member with open legs, wincing a little as the cold wand was placed back on her lower belly. The blurry images of her twins once again lit up the room, and the big cat quickly pushed his shaft between the filly’s waiting thighs. Baybea gasped. 

“n-not so fast,” she protested, “Your dick is all prickly . . .”

“Textured for her pleasure,” Allan responded without missing a beat. He’d heard that one before. He obliged, pulling out slightly before slowly easing his way back in, allowing the filly to savour the feeling of every bump and bristle against the inside of her birth canal. He wasn’t as big as her usual fare, but his enthusiasm gave her shivers. She watched as Allan’s eyes lit up as he saw one of the foals kick when he pushed his shaft between the filly’s thighs.

	“Ooh, I felt that one,” Baybea nickered, putting her hand where she felt the impact. “Do it again!”

Who could refuse an order like that? The big cat eagerly obliged, grabbing the foal’s thighs and yanking her towards him. Baybea squealed with delight. It wasn’t often she met someone who could go balls-deep so quickly without hurting her. His textured gender brushed against the sensitive creases and crevices that bigger partners simply brushed past, and it sent fireworks through her body in an instant. Her enthusiasm was clearly contagious - The monitor showed her twins quickly becoming quite active, no doubt roused by the jostling and bumping of Baybea’s womb. He could hear - and see! - their hearts quicken with each swift thrust.

“They’re getting excited,” Baybea nickered, letting her own hand travel between her spread legs. While the feline was adept at hitting a great many titillating spots with his talented organ, there was one spot in particular where the filly needed that extra little attention. She slid  single finger between the top of her nether lips, swirling it around the sensitive little button of flesh hidden just out of sight. It was electric.

“nnn-AH!” she nickered, adding a second finger. She felt like she was racing off the edge of a cliff. She had never gotten so aroused so quickly, at this rate it would only be a matter of seconds before she went over the edge!

It took Allan by surprise, too. The little filly whinnied loudly and kicked out violently with her hoof, narrowly missing the feline’s shoulder. Allan reacted quickly, grabbing Baybea’s ankle and lifting it towards the ceiling. He grabbed the other one, too, holding both her legs up and drilling into her so deep he could see himself on the ultrasound. 

Baybea hadn’t stopped screaming. It was non-stop fireworks - every time she so much as thought of trying to calm down some little twitch or rub started her right back up again. It was an almost-constant plateau of pleasure and It wasn’t until Allan hissed out his own orgasm almost a minute later that she finally was able to take a real breath.

“That . . . was . . .” she snorted.

“My ears,” Allan whined, letting the equine’s ankle drop while he twisted his finger inside one of the triangular protrusions on his head. “They’re going to be ringing for weeks!”

No apology was asked for, and none was given. “Ah wonder if they’re as spent as I am?” Baybea asked wistfully, reaching up to touch the monitor behind her.

“I like to think so,” Allan grinned, “People go on and on about unborn children feeling stress, so why not lust? Why not joy or ecstasy?”

“Ah think they do,” Baybea nodded, pulling a sticky finger out from between her legs, “And Ah think they’ll remember, too. When they finally come, Ah want you t’remind them how they felt today. Can ya do that, Doctah Kane?”

The feline was helpless against those eyes. The fuzzy warm feeling of afterglow wasn’t exactly helping matters either. He just wanted everyone in the world to be as happy as his was at that moment. But he would have to settle for the three of them. “I can do that,” he replied with a nod. 
