Baybea awoke to the sound of birds outside her window and smiled as the sound slowly nudged her towards wakefulness. It was an easy start to her morning, even though it was much earlier than any morning she would have had back in the inner city.
	
	The falabella was far from the oppressive concrete jungle where she had first earned her stripes as an underage exotic dancer in a secretive downtown club. She did well enough for herself, but everything changed when she met Varrin. Part pimp and part producer, the zebra and his cohorts had opened the door into a world of dangerous, bestial and ultimately thrilling acts that pushed her stout body to its absolute limits. She had mated with feral stallions ten times her size. She had her pregnant body pounded by three males while in active labour. She delivered two children mid-coitus and witnessed the birth of a third from only inches away. Her videos had spread far and wide on the web, deleted every so often by law enforcement but never gone for long. And each time she saw her videos, the little filly saw dollar signs.

	The total earnings from Varrin’s latest production, an enormous orgy starring a total of seven creatures including the two feral foals born on-camera, had rivaled an opening weekend for a hollywood blockbuster. Most of that was sucked up by post-production work, but Baybea’s cut alone was enough to put a down payment on a rural farmstead. The royalties from her earlier successes plus numerous webcam shows were enough to pay the bills each month, and she boarded horses on her ample acreage to help pay for the cost of raising two foals of her own.

	No longer was she tied to the stage. She was free from prying eyes and constant demands, free to roam and relax . . . or so she thought. In reality, she was busier than she ever was before. Her two daughters - one on two legs, and one on four - did a good job of keeping the falabella out of trouble. It was a hurried, joyful existence, for a while.

	But after a few months, the falabella felt somehow . . . empty. She needed to get back to work, but she didn’t want to leave her country life behind. So she started doing webcam shows, working while her daughter was asleep for digital currency by the minute. It helped, but it wasn’t the risky thrill she was looking for, and she wasn’t making anywhere near as much as she wanted to. In her heart she knew what she wanted, but she wanted to wait just to make sure it wasn’t just a passing fancy.

Two weeks later, She called Varrin.

She wasn’t even sure what to say to him. She didn’t know what she wanted, other than ‘more’. So that’s what she told him: “More”. She knew Varrin would take care of the rest.

And take care he did. Only a few days afterwards, the sound of a vehicle rumbling up the gravel driveway caught her attention. The vehicle in question was a fairly unremarkable pickup, towing a horse trailer. She didn’t recognize the driver, a lean, grey-brown canine with a narrow face and ears that folded over and framed his face. His unusual colouration and stark features hinted at an upper-class breed, one that should have been reclining in the back of a limousine instead of driving a pickup truck that looked older than he was. She did, however, recognize the passengers: Varrin, his well-built zebra-striped equine body almost comically jammed in the middle seat, and Jacob with his equally monochromatic spotty coat on the far side, holding a camera. All three were in costume - faded denim and dirty plaid shrouded all of them from head to toe.

	“Scuse me miss,” the newcomer spoke with a forced southern drawl, “But ah heard you had some empty space ‘round here where ah can park my stud for a week or two, while Ah’m outta town?”
	
	Varrin winked, off-camera. Baybea batted her eyelashes. Stepping into her old role after so long felt like sinking into an old, comfortable pair of pants. It was like she never left the stage. “I sure do, mistah!” she beamed, tucking her hands behind her back and giving a small curtsey, “I love horsies!” 

The dog gave a token chuckle. “Glad to hear it, miss. Name’s Rex. What do I call you, li’l miss?” 

Baybea kept smiling. The name was probably fake, and the accent definitely was, but his manners were genuine. He really was happy to meet her. She wondered who he was - a fan? Some cohort of Varrin’s? “You can just call me Baybea, mistah!”

Rex extended his hand and gave a small bow. “Charmed, miss Baybea. Now then, let’s get down to business. Mah stallion needs some space whale Ah do some work with the fences. Won’t be more than a week or two. A month tops, promise.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem, mistah,” Baybea nodded, “Can we see’im?”

	Rex nodded, stepping out of the truck and pulling down his shirt. The camera followed as he walked around to the horse trailer and unlocked the latch.

Baybea’s eyes widened like a kid on Christmas morning. The creature in the trailer was absolutely enormous, almost twice as tall as she was. His coat was entirely black except for his hooves and his forehead, and was so smooth it seemed to shimmer in the bright light. His legs were thick and powerful, and his neck was like a tree. 

“Wow . . . !” Baybea whispered, reaching up to pet his nose. The stallion responded, flaring his nostrils and pushing his nose against the back of her hand playfully. She giggled and ran her palm along his faded muzzle. “He’s gorgeous!” she complimented, turning back to the canine. Varrin had snuck behind her, capturing the small bonding moment on film before focusing back on the canine for his reply.

“His name’s Goliath,” Rex replied, “Had’m since he was a colt. We always knew he was gonna be huge, and lookit’m now!”

Baybea nodded, still staring. Rex grabbed Goliath’s tack from the side of the trailer and slipped the halter over his neck while the mini-mare gawked. 

“Why not show me around, li’l miss,” Rex encouraged, leading the titanic stallion out of the trailer. Baybea’s eyes followed his flanks and caught a peek beneath his tail. She felt her knees tremble - he was definitely NOT a gelding! Those balls looked like black, furry oranges dangling between his legs! 

The mare waited until they were a safe distance in front of her and then trotted up alongside. “This way,” she led, pointing him towards the barn. She wondered how her daughter would get along with her new friend, wisely deciding to keep them separate for now. They could smell each other across the hall, and get to know each other that way before being formally introduced. Goliath could do some serious damage to her little filly, even if he didn’t mean it!

The barn was a spacious building. A large set of traditional barn doors opened up to an indoor grooming area, and a smaller entrance on the left led to the stallway. It was an older, simple facility, but it was lit and heated. She was immensely proud of it. Jacob stifled a cough as the dust attacked his nostrils. Baybea purposely avoided looking back, lest she inadvertently glance at the camera. Rex tied his prize to the wall and laid the tack out on the shelf beside before excusing himself to ‘get better acquainted with the property.’

That was Baybea’s que. She waited until his footsteps had faded, then made a show of peeking out the barn door to make sure he was gone. She saw the dusty prints leading around the side of the barn, ‘backstage’. She grinned. It was such a thrill to be performing again, especially in the comfort of her own new home.

She returned to the grooming area and gave the stallion a thorough examination. He was in exemplary shape: his coat was smooth and soft, his big brown eyes were clear and bright, and his head was held high. She ran a hand down the crease of his hip as she crouched down beside him and took a look at his undercarriage - he was in good shape there, too! She reached up and fondled the furry orbs between his thighs. They felt like velvet, so smooth and soft, heavy with the promise of virility. His sheath was thicker than her arm, and eagerly swelled up to reveal a slippery, pink, enormous member at the slightest touch. He must have smelled her arousal.

The shaft was warm and soft against her delicate hands. She stuck out her tongue and licked the tip of it, giggling when it sprang upwards and almost hit her in the nose. She opened her mouth and tried to fit even the tip in, but it was no good. Her jaw just couldn’t open wide enough! She puzzled over the issue, keeping one hand sliding up and down the stallion’s girth so he didn’t lose interest. There had to be a way. She glanced up at the tack that Rex had dropped off and snapped her fingers. This could work.

With a swish of her hand, Baybea’s dress lay beside Goliath’s tack on the shelf. She wriggled out of her panties and tossed them aside as well. She glanced over her shoulder to be greeted with Varrin licking his chops. She still had it.

Baybea grabbed the saddle and threw it over Goliath’s back, tugging on the stirrups to shuffle it into place. She grabbed her dress and tore off a strip of thick fabric to tie around one of the stirrups. She tugged at it a bit, testing its strength. This could work. She pulled what was left of the dress and tied it around the other stirrup, creating a sort of sling. Then, crouched under his enormous body, she pulled herself up using the stirrups as handles. Pole-dancing required substantial upper-body and core strength, and she was pleased to she she wasn’t too out of practice. The mini-mare pulled herself up and wrapped her legs around as much as the stallion’s barrel as she could manage and leaned back. She pushed her pelvis down and felt the flat, slick head of Goliath’s meat push against her inner thigh. He felt it too, apparently, and pushed his hips forward. Baybea yelped, tightening her grip on the stirrups. It felt like one of those large 2-litre pop bottles, only warm and hard. 

Goliath pushed again. Baybea gritted her teeth. She may have been talented, but she was out of practice and he felt larger than anything she had ever taken. It was like having a foal only backwards. She let out her breath and tried to relax. She could do it, she thought, all she had to do was just let it happen and Goliath would do the rest himself.

And he did. With a snort he reared up onto his hind legs and put his front legs on the shelf, pushing his hips forward and mashing the poor mare underneath him up against the wall. Baybea shrieked, feeling her stomach jump. She panted like a dog, remembering the trick she used to stop herself from clenching when delivering her first foal. It worked here just as well. She didn’t dare look down, but it felt like he had at least managed to shove the tip in. 

“Everyone alright in there?” Baybea heard Rex holler from outside. 

“F-fine!” she whinnied, holding onto the stirrups for dear life as the stallion bounced her up and down, each bump shoving his titanic member further inside her. She hadn’t felt his medial ring yet, which meant he may not even be halfway!

“Jumpin’ Christmas!” Rex yelped, aghast. He was standing in the doorway, his arousal bulging in his loins. Clearly, Varrin didn’t tell him what to prepare for.

“You said he was big, mistah,” Baybea squeaked, “I was just seein’ h-how big!”

Rex folded his arms. “And?”

Baybea looked down between her legs. He was wider than her arm, and there was far less of him inside her than it felt like. Either that, or he was a lot bigger down there than she originally took him for. “Driver’s seat feels good,” she replied, “But I need to take a test drive! Let’er rip!”

Rex grinned, quickly untying the massive stallion from the wall and pulling him around the edge of the indoor grooming ring. He was literally chomping at the bit, eager to move. The little falabella underneath him was quickly reduced to a moaning, drooling mess, each step pushing his enormous meat further between her legs before she was ready. Goliath had only taken a dozen or so steps and already she felt like the thing was going to come out her nose!

“Still doing alright?” Rex grinned, turning the stallion to the side to give the camera a good shot.

“Uuuwaaugh,” came the reply, the falabella’s eyes beginning to cross.

“Good. Buckle up!”

Rex stopped the horse for a moment before putting a boot in the left stirrup, hauling himself up onto the massive stallion. His feet dug into the stallion’s sides and before the word “giddyup” had left his lips Goliath was already at a trot. The sudden movement stunned the mini-mare below him. If she wasn’t in the sling, she would have fallen off in an instant.

Each step pushed the titanic shaft deeper inside her, jostling it around and brushing against spots so deep she didn’t even know they existed! She could feel the medial ring scraping around her insides, the head was so deep it was hard to breathe. But she couldn’t protest. She had been almost completely incapacitated by the constant movement, like a jackhammer inside her gut. She felt the stallion clench, stiffening straight as a board. She tried to warn the rider, but all that emitted from her lips was an incomprehensible, blubbering moan. Moments later she felt her insides explode - the hot, thick stallion milk was flooding her strained passage and gushing out like a fire hose. And that was only the first pump. She threw her head back and whinnied loudly as the stallion reared up and shot another load into her gut. Baybea could feel Goliath’s barrel pressing against her stomach. She could have sworn she was already swelling, even with the semen bucketing out from between her legs. It was more than her little body could handle, and he wasn’t done yet - three more pumps flooded her guts before Goliath finally relented. Baybea’s head spun and she thought she saw spots creeping in from the edges of her vision. She grunted with relief when she felt him relaxing - she was sure she was going to pass out!

	Goliath shook his head and snorted. Baybea slumped in her impromptu sling, sliding downwards until she was sure she was going to drop to the dirt. She didn’t care anymore. She slipped towards the dusty ground and felt something tugging on her from inside. She was stuck! It was the strangest feeling, she thought, literally sliding down the stallion’s member until it deposited her onto the sawdust with a wet schlop. She felt what must have been a gallon of cum land on top of her, and a far-off voice say something to the effect of the ground getting more than she did. Her arms were spread wide, and her legs were so stretched and sore that she wondered whether she’d ever walk straight again. She raised her head with a weak grin and heard Varrin say “cut” before exhaustion took her.