It had been several months since the 'incident' in the champagne room that forced the falabella  known only by her stage name – Baybea – to finally take some time off work. Her last show (and her daughter's first, by extension) had given her more than enough money to sit on while she recuperated. Once that small fortune started to run dry, she left her infant filly in the care of a friend and set off towards the nameless nightclub to earn her fortune all over again. She knew that since she left, the owner had tacked on a few additions – mainly an expansion into the warehouse next door. Several themed rooms had been added – the 'jungle of love', the 'seedy truck stop', and three or four others she couldn't recall. She had a feeling she'd see them soon enough anyways.

	She was almost always a headline performer, or at least she would have been if the club did any advertising whatsoever. But alas, the entire place could be ruined if they even mentioned her. She was far too young to be sporting her skimpy lingerie and twirling seductively around that old wooden stage. Her miniature figure made her look younger than she was, and the club gave her out for younger still, labelling her an 'early bloomer' because of her subtle, developing curves. Of course, she played up the impression as much as possible, raising her voice to a near squeak and adding a slight lisp.

	Fingers clicked on the keypad near the club's back entrance. She heard the mechanical chack of the lock sliding free from the other side, and she quickly slipped through, taking care to lock the heavy door behind her. Up the stairs to the dressing room she went, wondering in the back of her mind if any of her pre-pregnancy outfits still fit her. She surpassed her own expectations about losing the baby weight by practising her new routine as often as she was able. She wasn't exactly as trim as she had hoped to be by this point, but she could still describe herself as having an athletic figure. Pole-dancing wasn't easy work, after all.

	The wooden stairs creaked as she climbed up to the dressing rooms. Hers was near the end, marked with her stage name superimposed on a golden star. Good to know her leave of absence hadn't diminished her standing, she thought as her key slipped in the lock and turned.

	Her chair had been turned away from the mirror, and there was a small white and blue bundle on the seat, tied together with a bright indigo ribbon. There was a note on the top. The little mare let out a small whinny of glee as she placed the parcel on the counter.

	“Dear Baybea,” she read aloud, “Congratulations and welcome back, we've all missed you. Hope these new duds get you back in the swing of things.” There was no signature on the note. It could have been from a previous client, one of the other dancers, or even the manager himself. She had no way of knowing. Still, she was never one to turn down a new costume. She tossed her 'normal' outfit to the floor in record time, eager to try on this little gift. She stopped to scrutinize herself in the full-length mirror. She was still just over four feet tall, not having grown much taller over the past few months. Instead, her chest had filled out a little and her hips were a little wider than she remembered, but she did have to push a foal through them, so it was only to be expected. Besides, she could use those hips to her advantage. What mattered most was that her belly was still flat as a board again, with the short, tan fur serving to hide any bothersome stretchmarks.

	The purpose of the outfit quickly became clear: White panties, a white button-up shirt, an indigo tie and a frilled indigo skirt that was longer at the front than it was at the back, tied together with a large bow just above her tail.

	“The ol' 'slutty schoolgirl' costume,” she giggled to herself, “Someone knows me too well!” She flipped the tie around her neck without tying it up, and donned the white shirt leaving the top two buttons undone. She pondered for a moment and undid two buttons at the bottom as well – just enough to keep from revealing too much, but still giving plenty of peeks for those who paid close enough attention. The new panties fit perfectly – whomever left this little gift knew her size way too well, or at least cared enough to find out. Then there was the skirt. Thigh-length at the front tapering to nothing but a ribbon at the back. It was perfect. She tied the skirt around her waist, and after a moment's thought wrapped the second ribbon around her tail to keep it up and out of the way. She turned around, checking her rump in the mirror. She saw perfection, and she only hoped the crowd saw the same.

	The room was warm and alive as she stepped through the curtain. She went straight to work, grabbing onto the silver pole and turning to show the audience just how short that skirt of hers really was. There were hoots and hollers and cheers as she twirled, lifting the sides of her skirt and exposing just a little more of those tight-fitting undergarments. She felt home here, where the crowds roared and the almighty coin could buy all manner of debauchery. She felt needed, important, even loved. She leaned in real close to let a customer slip a bill into her garter belt, hiking up what little of her clothing there was to give him and everyone else a good view up that tan-furred thigh.

	It wasn't long after that that the money came pouring in once again. Everyone seemed eager for  a peek at that toned-up underage midriff and those child-bearing hips on a body far too small to sport them. She tried her best to scan the crowd without looking too inconspicuous. There were a few faces she recognized – well-paying patrons, previous private customers . . . and then there was one that stuck out like a sore thumb. A large, striped equine, sitting near the back, staring. Seeing that he had her attention, he waved her over with a wad of bills. Baybea could only shrug and concede that this was going to be a very long night.

	 “I was wondering when you might show up again,” the zebra nickered, pulling a single bill out from the small stack.

	“That's a lotta money ya got there, mistah stripy!” Baybea responded, extending her long leg over the zebra's lap and exposing her garter belt. The zebra sighed and pushed the bill inside, reaching up the inside of her skirt. Baybea playfully pushed his hand away, and Varrin replied by pulling out another pair of bills. The falabella was straddling his lap a few seconds later, facing away from him and flicking her tail in his face.

	“Well, it could all be yours ” Varrin nickered, putting his hands behind his head and pushing his hips forward into a more comfortable position, “I have a friend who's started to take an interest in girls like you. I've been checking the place out hoping to find someone suitable and now that you've come back, I really can't see anyone else for him.”

	Baybea sat down on his lap, feeling his softball-sized bulge between her legs. It was a wonder those slacks weren't bursting at the seams. “A new friend?” she repeated, turning around to watch his expression change as she began to grind against his groin.

	“An old friend,” he corrected, “You'd get along famously, I'm sure.” The zebra winced. Several hours of looking at pretty girls had gotten him quite riled up, and the little mini-mare was doing all she could to take advantage of that. She knew that if she could just get him wound up enough, he could get that wallet of his to do the talking instead.

	“I love ta' meet new friends” she teased, pressing her rear down on her lap and pushing backwards. Varrin grunted. 

	“I knew I could count on you,” he grinned, wincing again as he felt the head of his shaft beginning to flare inside his pants and rub against the rough fabric. He grabbed the falabella's hips and pushed them down, rubbing his crotch against her at his own pace.

	“You're awful frisky t'night, mistah!” the mini-mare nickered, craning her neck to look back while she leaned forwards and put her hands on his knees, pushing her rear rhythmically into his chest.

	“Well, when you deprive a stallion of his favourite call-girl . . .”

	“Fav'rite? But ya didn't even mount me!”

	“A gentleman never fucks on a first date.”

	“Dozzat mean you're gonna mount me now?”

	Varrin nearly lost it right there. Hearing those words from the mouth of a little filly drove him absolutely wild. “Slow down, girly,” he replied, trying to keep from blowing his wad with his clothes still on, “This is for my friend. But I don't think he'll be quite so . . . shy.”

	“Ah look forward to it, mistah!” She replied, hopping off Varrin's lap and leaving him only moments from finishing. She knew just how desperate he was, and she was willing to milk it for all it was worth. Still, he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of watching him get desperate. He dusted himself off, making no attempt to adjust the massive bulge between his thighs. 

	“Meet me in the farm-themed booth tomorrow night. You bring your A-game, and I'll bring a few friends along. The more, the merrier, right?” he winked, quickly digging into his wallet and pushing another wad of bills Baybea's way. “Just to make sure you show up, there's a lot more where that came from. And I'm sure some old friends will show up to chip in, too.”

	Baybea flashed her best smile, folding her hands in front of her legs innocently. “I can't wait!” she replied. Inside, she wasn't sure how to feel. Last time made her a very rich filly, but she wasn't sure if her body could handle something like that a second time. One thing she did know, is that if she had a date with Varrin tomorrow night, she needed to turn in early. She had made enough for an hour or two's work, and she knew tomorrow she'd be absolutely rolling in it, so she felt no shame in taking the rest of the night off. Tomorrow was going to be rough.

	She set off for her date at nightfall, dressed again in her new favourite threads. She gave a wink to the bouncer as she entered the re-purposed warehouse. The door opened up into a plain-looking hallway, with closed doors on either side. There were some strange names among them: “The Disused Catacombs”, “The Exotic Palace,” and, of course, the “Seedy Truck Stop”. On the left was her door, “The Rustic Ranch.” She unlocked the door quickly, wondering if she was early.

	She wasn't. Varrin was already inside the stall, tending to an absolutely enormous draft stallion. He had a shining, dappled coat and started chomping at the bit, showing his teeth as soon as the falabella walked in. For a moment, it was all she saw. 

	“Holy-” Baybea blurted out, momentarily breaking character. She recovered from her surprise quickly. “That's a big horsey!”

	“He certainly is,” Varrin nickered, putting a hand on the beast's neck to try and calm him. “Baybea, meet Bronte. Bronte, likewise.”

	The stallion was tacked up to a 'fence' in the middle of the room. The floor was covered in wood-chips, and the walls were painted to look like an old-fashioned barn. Beside the fence there was what looked like a sawhorse, but the little falabella knew instantly what it was really for – and it wasn't gymnastics. There was a few other figures near the back of the room – Varrin's friends. She recognized Dezzy, the thickly-built grey stallion on the left, and Jacob, the slender, spotted canine on the right.  There was also a figure in the middle that was new to her. The figure was female, equine, and of a similar build to the stallion on her left. She was almost entirely brown, save for a white streak that took up almost the entirety of her forehead. She was dressed plainly, her hands folded over her lap and her eyes glued to the enormous stallion. Jacob was holding a small camcorder. He knew Baybea charged extra for an audience, even more for 'participation', and an astronomical amount for production and distribution rights. He was going to make her very, very rich if he wasn't careful. 

	Baybea played the part of the actress and ignored the other three figures entirely, instead going straight to work inspecting the beast from all angles. He was an impressive creature, with short-furred skin stretched taut over ripples of muscle and lean bulk. He was just as impressive under the tail, with a pair of testicles the size of oranges tucked up neatly between his hind legs and a thick, meaty shaft fully exposed, flopping back and forth almost comically. Bronte reared up and whinnied loudly, nearly knocking Baybea on her butt. Varrin had to tug him back down to earth with a firm yank on the reins.

	“Easy!” the zebra commanded. “You'll get your chance.” He turned to the mini-mare. “I've been telling him about this since yesterday, and he hasn't seen his favourite mare since he knocked her up a month or two back and I had to separate her from the rest. He's desperate to sink his meat into anything he can get, and I'm pretty sure Cassie over there is already too loose for the job.” He gave a rude nod to the mare on the bench. “Think you're up to the challenge, my little filly?” He nodded his head to a stack of bills piled neatly near the sawhorse, more than enough for a few hours of fun. Baybea looked back at the feral stallion. He was enormous in every way, and it made Baybea shiver to think what he would do to her if given the chance. It would be the fucking of a lifetime – but if he got too rough, it could be the last fucking of a lifetime.

	Baybea took a deep breath. She pushed a nine-pound foal out of those hips. After an ordeal like that, she wasn't about to let a mere phallus – even one of that calibre – phase her. She stepped up to the sawhorse and shoved her panties down, stuffing the wad of cash into her garter as she bent over the leather-wrapped cushion. “Bring'em on, mistah!” she commanded, making a 'come hither' motion with her finger.

	Varrin didn't waste any time. He led Bronte over to the sawhorse, and let him sniff the appealing  falabella filly that was presented to him. The draft horse went from unsettled to outright agitated. He pushed his nose under her tail and snorted, baring his teeth as he tasted her scent. Baybea shuddered.  She was teasing him. She couldn't help it! It wasn't her fault he could smell the heat under her tail, fueled by the presence of such a prime stud. She could feel his warm nose and hot, steaming breath against her most sensitive, intimate regions. 

	“He might take a while to decide,” Varrin grinned as he leaned over to unbuckle his pants. “In the meantime, here's something to keep you busy!” He reached into his undergarments and pulled out his stallion-sized cock, pushing it into the mare's face while Bronte sniffed and snorted at her backside. Baybea knew what to do. She opened her mouth wide and let the enormous shaft inside, inch by inch until she could feel it tickle the back of her throat. She did her best to suckle on it, but it was like trying to nurse a warm, floppy soda can. Her jaw was already stretched to what felt like the limit, and only the head of the zebra's tool was inside her mouth.

	Bronte shifted, and Baybea felt his heavy frame rise up, only to crash down around her on the plush sawhorse. She tried to open her mouth wider than it already was to cry out, but Varrin was waiting, and shoved his hips forward to push his cock inside the rest of the way. Baybea could feel it tickling the back of her throat, and if she crossed her eyes far enough, she could see that there was still quite a lot left to go. 

	Then Bronte made his move. With a snort, he pushed his entire body forward, and Baybea shut her eyes as she felt the flat head of his shaft press against her rump. The sawhorse tilted forwards. He missed. How could he miss, she thought to herself, she was giving him one heck of an opening. She tried to grin, thinking the situation almost amusing before Bronte tried again to mount her. This time, he didn't miss. His flared tip pierced her nether lips and drove into her like a train until it crashed into her cervix, and her entire body was shoved forwards, pushing her further onto Varrin's cock. The sawhorse rocked forwards again, and Baybea thought it would have tipped over for sure had Varrin not been standing on the other side. The zebra gasped, grabbing on to the falabella's mane to hold her tightly in place while the mighty stallion behind her pulled out and thrust into her again like a living jackhammer.

	Baybea felt Varrin's cock slip past the back of her mouth and down her throat, forcing her to straighten her neck. She swore that Bronte was nestled somewhere in her stomach, he was so far inside her. And he just wasn't slowing down! He was pushing against something – was that her cervix? Or was he already pushing against the other side of her womb? She reached down with a hand, trusting the two massive equines to keep her from falling. She was pretty firmly impaled. She reached down to her chest. No, he wasn't stuck in her ribcage, even though it certainly felt like it. Her hand travelled further down past her stomach to her groin, and then she felt the bulge. He was a solid foot inside her at least, which meant there was at least another foot to go, and Baybea was only four feet and change. That was a lot of stallion for one filly to take! Meanwhile, Varrin's cock was literally bulging out the underside of her throat as it made its way down to her stomach. She had taken two guys before, but it wasn't anything like this! She swore they were meeting somewhere in her gut as they pulled out and shoved into her miniature body. She felt like she was going to fold up like an accordion as they started thrusting in unison.  She could see Varrin reaching up to give his enormous 'pet' a pat on the head for such a good job as the feral stallion quickly finished his task, standing completely still to prevent his mare from moving while he unloaded inside her. The first splash coated almost her entire inner passage. Baybea winced, her nostrils flaring as the second spurt began to drool out of her spasming tunnel. The rest was too much, and ended up splattering to the floor of the stall like white, creamy rain. She felt like her brain had just been basted.

	Varrin didn't slow down. Unlike his feral companion, he didn't have a hair-trigger. With Baybea anchored in place by Bronte there was nothing to stop the zebra from using her head like a toy, shoving his meat entirely down her throat and forcing the mare's nose to kiss his groin forcefully and repeatedly. Baybea again tried to help him out, to swirl her tongue around and suckle  like a good little filly, but there was literally no room. It was all she could muster just to sit there and take it all, but take it she did.

	Bronte pulled out a few moments later, practically dragging Baybea off the sawhorse. The remainder of the stallion's seed piddled out onto the ground, and the mare's eyes rolled back in relief. At least one end was empty.

	“You're as tight as your daughter,” Varrin nickered, keeping the mare firmly grounded in the moment. Baybea tried to resist a cough of surprise. She certainly felt like a helpless little foal right then – trapped between two monstrous males intent on using her for their own enjoyment. The zebra's face was all scrunched up as he fought for every inch inside her throat. Baybea had to fight, too – even with those huge equine nostrils flaring, it was hard to get a good gulp of air with that monster shaft taking up all that space. Fortunately for her, the zebra didn't look like he could last much longer. She held her breath and tried to swallow, the sudden constriction in her throat sending the zebra hurtling over the edge of climax. 

	Baybea didn't have to swallow. Varrin's shaft was so far down her throat that she was sure it was pumping right down into her stomach. The zebra did, however, manage to dredge his shaft out from her  gullet in just enough time to give her angular face a solid pasting with his last few spurts. Baybea slid off the sawhorse a moment later, collapsing into a fetal position on the ground. She coughed up a huge dollop of white gunk from somewhere down her throat, not bother to get up as it pooled around her nostrils. More than ever she felt like her daughter – cold, soaking wet, coughing up fluid and completely helpless. And this time, there was no doting mother to pick her up and dry her off. Strangely, it didn't seem to bother her. She found it strangely comforting, being so helpless. She was going to be sore for weeks after this, and that was assuming the stallion's little 'present' didn't take root. If it did, she would be sore for many, many months. She thought about the possibility while Varrin dressed himself once again and led his satisfied stallion out of the stall. His companions followed, with only the female giving the soaking, slimy filly a second glance.
	
	Again, she had been left with significantly more money than she expected, enough to keep her off the stage while she recuperated, but not for much longer than that. She knew she would be back on the stage in a week or two, and she knew Varrin would be waiting to see her next trick.