	Everything was going according to plan. Dr. Kane had been reeled in without issue - not only did the two equines technically have all his stuff to hold for ransom if relations soured, but they had him really, truly invested in their little project. Baybea could ask him for literally anything and as long as it was ‘for the foals,’ he’d move heaven and earth to get it done, especially when the little filly was so bloated she could hardly move. So when Baybea and Varrin started making the final preparations, it was no surprise that Allan was on the little filly like white on rice. Her every wish was his command, right down to the acquisition of a partner for the big day. Baybea insisted on something big and feral, but Allan refused to bring in a stallion for fear it might hurt the girl. They eventually compromised on an ‘intact’ male donkey from one of Allan’s previous clients. It wasn’t the noble steed Baybea hoped for, but he was still plenty big, definitely big enough to do the job of kicking her labour into high gear like she hoped.

The days dragged by. Both Varrin and Allan passed the time by teasing the donkey relentlessly, winding him up with the scent of Baybea’s daughters and refusing to let him get off. Baybea herself spent most of her time resting, counting kicks and waiting for contractions to start. She hardly noticed them when one finally ‘hit’ her. It felt like a gentle hand closing over her midsection. She thought it was just one of the foals stretching except it seemed unusually drawn out. And then it happened again with a little more force. Still, she waited, taking her sweet time to get ready.

The boys were busy finishing the ‘studio’ Varrin had started building in the barn. There were cameras in every corner, with a single overhead lamp to warm and brighten the room. The donkey himself, a beast of reasonable size, had an additional camera strapped to his underside for some of that irresistible close-up footage and of course Varrin had a camera and tripod himself in case some appealing angle presented itself.

“Howdy!” came a shrill nicker from the barn doors. The filly had certainly dressed for the occasion: Her hands were shrouded to mid-forearm in etched leather gloves and her legs were protected up to her knees by specially-designed riding boots of similar quality. The equine ‘feet’ inside made the boots almost look high-heeled. A short baby-blue miniskirt barely shrouded her waist but left her upper thighs completely exposed. A blue-and-white plaid blouse covered her torso, but the buttons undone at both the bottom (by necessity) and the top (by choice) making it very clear she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her belly stuck out far and low enough to almost cover her miniskirt completely.

Good thing he had that underbelly-camera, Varrin thought, because he certainly wasn’t getting any shots from the front.

“That all ya got?” She snorted, eyeing up the haltered donkey, “Really? He’s barely taller than me!”

Varrin shrugged. “I wanted something bigger, but-”

“But we actually want you to be able to walk after this,” Allan interjected, shooting a stern glance upwards at the zebra, “I’m not about to see all my research pissed away just because you want to impale yourself on a meat-stick the size of my arm.”

The zebra rolled his eyes. “What the good doctor is trying to say is that we compromised. Don’t think of poor Rocky here as ‘small’, think of him as . . . compact.” he grinned widely. Baybea smiled back – she knew Varrin would never put on a disappointing show. If he said there was more to this beastie than met the eye, then she was going to be in for a wild, wild ride.

She approached the animal gingerly, reaching out a hand to touch the top of the donkey’s nose. It pushed her away playfully, eliciting a giggle. She reached towards the beast’s cheek and undid the buckle on the halter, letting it slide down his face and hit the sawdust. Allan looked concerned that she was releasing the beast, but Varrin just kept filming.

The donkey shook his head as Baybea ran her fingers through his short, bristly mane. He pushed his nose against her again, forcing her to step backwards against the wall.

“F-frisky little guy!” Baybea noted, clearly a little apprehensive. He was little, but he was a forceful little thing! If only she knew how long the two boys had been teasing him! “Right down t’ business, yeah? Alright, boy, I know what yer after!”

She turned around, put her hands against the stable wall and stuck her rear out, swishing her tail alluringly.

“She’s . . . not wearing anything under there,” Allan noted candidly.

“Surprised?” Varrin replied, keeping his eyes and hands on the camera.

The feline didn’t reply. He watched the donkey lean down to sniff the filly’s behind then rear up, trying to put his front hooves on her shoulders like he would a feral mare. The thrust that came afterwards was forceful enough to slam the petite porn star against the wall.

Allan winced, instinctively clenching. Varrin let out an impressed “Whoa!”

Baybea could only grunt, clenching her hands against the wall as she tried to push herself back. That was going to leave a bruise. The second, more accurate thrust came before she had a chance to properly brace herself. She felt the donkey’s wide phallus hammer against her backside and push through her outer lips, driving her into the wooden boards. She chose to protect her belly instead of bracing herself and nearly got knocked silly. He was strong, and he was a lot ‘quicker on the draw’ than she anticipated. The third thrust pushed her against the wall so hard she heard the wood creak under the weight. She heard the thud of his hooves above her head – the donkey was rearing up against the wall, drumming against it as he tried to clumsily ‘walk’ forwards with his hind legs. Each thrust reverberated through her body, making her legs wobble with both pain and arousal. She couldn’t take much more of this without either cumming or passing out. Why wasn’t this guy a one-pump-chump like the rest of his species? 

Fortunately, Baybea quickly began to get used to the sensation. This was like being back on the stage, bloated with foals and stuffed in every hole. If she squinted, the sun through the barn windows almost looked like stage lighting. All that was missing was the thunder of bassy music and the roar of a hungry crowd . . . She rocked backwards slightly, trying to match the beast’s rhythm and give back a little of what he was giving to her. It was an amazing feeling, every inch of movement from her seemed to be returned tenfold. 

Rocky didn’t seem to understand the concept of running out of space. Previous partners probably would have gotten the message that there wasn’t anything left to push through after that, and that Baybea wasn’t completely bottomless (despite rumours to the contrary). But not this donkey, he kept drilling away at the filly’s cervix with the intent of punching through. Allan covered his mouth in shock while Varrin’s lips curled into an almost malicious smile. The donkey was almost fully upright, his front hooves scrambling for something on the stable wall to hold on to while Baybea was sandwiched between them, held firmly in place by what looked like a good twelve inches of donkey dick. That quickly turned into six or eight more by the next thrust, and Baybea’s eyes suddenly widened in shock. She was filled up a second ago, so she thought. Now she had what felt like twice as much inside her, as well as a spreading numbness from her pelvis. She could feel him up to a point, then everything was just pins and needles, like she'd been sitting funny for hours.
 “Pull out!” Baybea demanded, waving her arm behind her to try and make the donkey uncomfortable. “Pull out! Pull out now!”

The donkey did back up, but to the filly’s alarm, she was dragged away as well, her hands clawing at the wall for something to hold onto until she slid down to the ground, her rear end still held aloft by the donkey’s erect member. She was stuck!

Allan ran over to help while Varrin broke into a fit of whooping laughter. How the zebra could find something like this funny was beyond the feline’s comprehension. He crouched down and grabbed the filly by the arms, trying to hold her in place while the feral donkey backed up. It was a tug-o-war with the poor filly in the middle!

A horrific cramp tightened around the filly’s belly. It wasn’t just that she WANTED the donkey out, she NEEDED him out - there was something coming that needed his stallionhood out of the way. She grunted, Rocky took a step back, and Allan was almost pulled off his feet trying to hold on.

Something splashed on the straw ground. Allan’s ears perked.

“I see hooves!” Varrin announced. 

Baybea’s eyes crossed. She tried to look behind her, but her belly obscured absolutely everything. She was lifted completely off the ground by her two ‘assistants’ and it felt like she was being pulled inside out. But how could it feel so good?” Each and every twitch was fireworks, and with two males tugging on either side it felt as if she was getting fucked from the inside out!

The filly pushed as hard as she could, trying to help, but her body refused to listen. Her womb felt like it was clamping down, trying to keep the foal inside while the rest of her desperately wanted it out, if only to quit crowding the cock that was still at least a foot inside her.

“You’re digging it out!” Baybea shrieked, “You’re digging out my baby!”

	She felt some slip as both Rocky and the unborn foal emerged another few inches. She heard Varrin exclaim something about ‘really long legs’ but she was too busy to focus. The filly put every ounce of strength into her next push, only to be rudely distracted by Rocky thrusting IN to her again, sliding up against what must have been the unborn foal’s body.

“WAIT!” Baybea whinnied, twisting and turning in mid-air, not wanting to kick for fear of hurting her foal, “Wait, the foal’s still coming out! It’s still coming!”

Rocky wasn’t listening. He was busy grinding his shaft against the slippery unborn foal, shooting thick ropes of donkey-spunk between the foal’s back and Baybea’s inner walls. Baybea threw her head back and whinnied out what felt the biggest orgasm of her life as the now-lubricated foal was pulled out along with Rocky’s softening shaft.

With nothing to hold up her back end, she hit the ground in a crumpled heap. She was drooling, sweating, and already exhausted. And she was only halfway there.

“Don’t keep us in suspense,” Varrin interrupted. “What is it?”

Baybea rolled over and looked. It almost didn’t seem real, but there it was - a newborn feral foal, lifting its head and shaking off some suspiciously white slime from its forehead. Rocky seemed equally curious, leaning down to sniff at the new arrival.

“Oh my god,” Baybea whinnied as she lifted one of the foal’s long legs, “It’s a BOY!” She rolled over onto her hands and knees, rubbing her hand between the newborn colt’s legs and up along its belly. The umbilical cord had snapped, apparently from the sheer force of the delivery. Baybea quickly let go of his leg and tied it off before returning her attention to her newborn’s glistening hindquarters

“What a big boy you are,” she sighed blissfully as she fondled her feral son. “Mommy’s gonna help you clean up, now!” She rubbed her nose against the colt’s velvet-soft sac, licking away the amniotic fluid from under the colt’s sheath. The organ twitched and throbbed at her touch, quickly growing into a slippery, horse-sized member. “A very big boy indeed!”

“Feeling inadequate, kitty?” Varrin grinned, keeping the camera focused on the mother-son display. 

Allan hissed something rude before quickly covering his mouth. “You didn’t get that on camera, did you?”

Varrin laughed. “There’s a girl young enough to be your daughter giving her four-legged son a blowy and you’re worried about someone hearing you cuss? Come on.”

And what a blowy she was giving. Baybea had her tongue all over that glistening member like it was a popsicle on a hot summer day. The colt seemed accepting of it at the very least, the new and pleasurable sensations likely distracting it from the cool air clinging to its wet fur. Baybea reached her hand up to the colt’s head and helped him lift it all the way to the big donkey straddling his tiny body.

“Lookin’ fer somethin’ t’nurse, ain’cha?” she babbled, watching as the newborn fumbled his nose around Rocky’s floppy member, trying to nurse from the end of it. It took him almost no time to latch on to the head of it and begin sucking it dry, removing the coating of excess spunk and fluids in a matter of moments. 

With her son thoroughly occupied, she turned her thoughts to the foal still inside of her. The contractions hadn’t stopped, but the flood of endorphins had lessened their effect and the enormous relief from delivering her son had dulled the pain somewhat. There was no better medicine! She rolled over onto her back, rose up with a groan and looked between her legs. Those were hooves. White, slippery hooves. Rocky hadn’t just dragged her son out, he had almost dragged the other twin out with him! 

“Varrin!” she nickered urgently, “Varrin, get over here! With the camera! I got a helluva shot!”

Allan didn’t think he’d ever see the zebra move so fast. 

“Point it here,” the filly demanded, reaching between her legs, “Yer gettin’ th’ shot of a lifetime!” She reached down and wrapped a hand around each of the protruding fetlocks, giving an experimental tug. Varrin stood over her, zooming in on the stretched lips of the birth canal. 

“Got the angle,” Varrin told her, “Waitin’ on you now.”

He didn’t have to wait long. An enormous contraction pushed inwards from all angles, like a giant’s fist around Baybea’s gut. She pushed down, pulled with her hands and leaned back, unable to support herself for more than a few seconds. Varrin watched as the hooves extended into forelegs one inch at a time. Baybea took a few heaving breaths and adjusted her grip.
	
	“Slippery,” she huffed.
	
	The second contraction came within moments. Baybea squealed, leaning back and turning one of the emerging legs over the other. She could feel the foal twisting inside her each time she moved it. Each contraction she felt like the foal was ‘pushing’ back, rubbing against the inside of her birth canal like a member no stallion could ever hope to match. And she was in total control of it.

	“Here comes another one,” she warned, reaching down to guide the rest of the foal’s forelegs out. Varrin reached down and pulled the rubbery sac off the nose of the emerging foal as soon as he saw it without missing a beat.
	
	The filly was feeling . . . rather good, all things considered. Rocky and the colt had done a good job stretching her out, so this second one didn’t feel nearly as bad. She was still so incredibly turned on by the sight of her feral son and that big donkey looming over the two of them . . . 

	When the next contraction came, Baybea closed her eyes, imagining the foal between her legs replaced by the longest, hardest, thickest dick she could imagine. She reached down and grabbed what felt like the foal’s neck, her hands sliding up and stopping at its bony chin. The foal flinched, but all the mare felt was the throbbing of an impossibly enormous phallus inside her. She leaned back and pulled, feeling the imaginary cock slide out – just a little. She felt fluid spurt out from between her legs, and imagined the biggest, fattest dick giving her the biggest, fattest cumshot right up into her womb.
	
	That was enough to drive her over the edge. She pulled upwards, keeping her grip on the foal’s head and felt the whole thing slide out up to its shoulders. The rest was taken care of by an enormous, orgasmic contraction that forcefully, almost violently ejected the rest of the foal at Varrin’s feet. Literal buckets of fluid followed, likely a mix of amniotic fluid and no small amount of feminine excretions from what was easily Baybea’s largest, messiest, most exhausting orgasm ever.
	
	“F-fuck,” Baybea gasped, pulling her second twin up onto her chest, “you made me cum! Ah’ll have t’ return the favour sometime soon!” 
	
	“You’re a wreck,” Allan corrected from the sidelines, “I’m surprised you’re still coherent after all that!”


	“A girl,” Varrin interrupted, holding one of the newborn’s legs up to the ceiling and zooming in underneath, “Look, we got momma’s and baby’s pussy in the same shot! That frame alone is gold!”

	Allan picked up a piece of straw and tickled the inside of the foal’s nostril with it. She sneezed and kicked out, nearly nailing Varrin in the forehead.

	“Bitch has a temper,” he responded, “Next time I’ll kick back.”

	“Why don’t you go do something productive?” Allan interjected, “I still need to give these three a proper examination, and I’m not doing that on-camera.”

	Varrin snorted. Allan grinned toothily. “Fine,” the zebra replied, “Wave for the camera, Bea!”

	All the falabella could manage was a tired flap of the arm. She had her feral newborn daughter suckling at her breast like a champ; she could care less about what ended up on film. All she cared about was the fact that it was all over, and now the farm had two more hungry mouths to feed. As a mother of four, would she even have time to make another film? Would her tired body even be able to stand it? Did she even want to?

	It only took a moment to think about it: Damn right, she did. 
