It was a busy night at the club, and that was just how the dancers liked it. Busy nights meant more coin, and a particular miniature filly with the stage name of 'Baybea' was raking it in hand over fist. She was a tiny little thing, not even in her teens, and the entire audience seemed intent on getting a piece of her wispy-tailed falabella rear while the getting was good, regardless of the fact that someone had clearly beaten them to the punch. Her child-like silhouette was interrupted by an enormous belly, the sign of a girl nearing the end of her pregnancy. Her previously-flat chest had swelled with milk over the past few weeks, and her unusual body shape warranted the use of a sort of 'maternity lingerie' to keep her large belly from wobbling about with every step. 
	
	Obviously, this was no normal nightclub. Depending on how one heard about it, it might be known as 'The Cellar,' 'The Palace', 'The Red Ribbon', or any number of other names. After all, the proper authorities couldn't track down the not-quite-legal cub-club without knowing the proper name. Having the aforementioned authorities' chief of staff in the audience probably helped a bit, too.
	
	The tan-furred falabella filly worked the pole like a champion; swishing her black tail seductively, swirling around and bending over backwards to proudly display that full-term midsection as she reached out to take the large bills out of someone's hand with a wink. The crowd loved it, and she certainly knew how to get them excited. She singled out one patron, a strapping, speckled stallion. One of the bigger breeds, she thought. A Percheron, perhaps, or maybe a shire stud. Their eyes met, and instantly the male started fumbling for his wallet. Bingo, she thought. She sashayed over to his corner of the stage and got down on her knees, spreading her legs wide apart, and seductively drew her hand up from between her legs, dragging along the lacy black lingerie and up across her globular belly. He held up a fistful of bills. She nodded to the garter along her right leg. “It's not gonna bite,” she nickered. The stallion grinned, pushing the wad of cash underneath the garter, making sure his hand wandered a little further up her inner thigh. She flicked him away like one would a meddlesome bug. 
	
	“That's far enough, stud,” she teased, “Unless you've got enough for the whole thing!” She gave him a wink and turned to head backstage, making sure to catch him in the face with her tail as she gave the pole one last whirl, blowing a kiss to her adoring fans as a pair of vixens called the 'twister sisters' came to take her place.
	
	Bea trotted – well, waddled, really – to the dressing room and let out a loud snort as she collapsed against a chair. She gripped her belly. She knew it wasn't stomach cramps that had been bothering her onstage. She had been offered her maternity leave more than two months ago, but she refused to take it, thinking the extra-large belly of hers could net her a bit of extra income. She was right – in the last two months she had brought home almost as much as she made in the past year. But enough was enough. she needed to get changed and get to a hospital, now, before her foal was born on the changing room floor.
	
	The door opened with a creak, and the club's owner walked in. The tan-furred mini-mare did her best to stand up straight and address him properly, but he motioned for her to sit back down. He was a portly-looking raccoon, sharply dressed in a suit that accented the natural greys and blacks of his fur.
	
	“You're not done for the night, Bea,” he told her, pulling a large wad of bills out from inside his suit. 
	
	“But. . .the foal-”
	
	The raccoon held up a hand to silence her. “I know, I know. But you have a special request. There's a small group of patrons who would like a private lap-dance in the champagne room.”
	
	“Ugh,” Bea snorted, “did you tell them I wasn't available?”
	
	“I told them I'd talk to you. But I think I'll just let their wallets do the talking for me.” He started counting out the bills on the dressing room counter and Bea's eyes widened. Those were some big numbers he was counting out. He split the pile into three and pushed them her way. “Three guys, one dance each, anything goes.”
	
	The filly counted out the money herself, making sure her eyes weren't playing tricks on her. For this price, she couldn't afford to say no. She only had to last an hour, maybe two at the most. 
	
	“Alright,” she replied, stuffing the money into her garter belt. She could do this, just this once. 

	The Champagne Room was a little alcove located behind a curtain near the stage. It was small, maybe fifteen feet on a side. Three of the walls were adorned by comfortable-looking leather couches, and of course there was a pole in the middle, surrounded by a small circular stage. The Champagne room was also an 'anything goes' room – as long as the customer had the coin, he could pretty much do whatever he wanted to the girl(s) he brought back here. Well, anything that didn't send her screaming for the manager. Bea looked around in the dim light. All three couches were occupied. The speckled stallion from earlier sat cross-legged on the couch directly in front of her, flanked by a dour-looking zebra on the left, and a smug-looking dalmatian on the right. The dalmatian looked to be the youngest of the three by far. He gave her a coy wink as he raised a champagne flute to his muzzle. All three of them seemed to be wearing less than she was, most of them stripped right down to undershirts and underwear. The dalmatian wasn't even wearing the former.
	
	The little mare went straight to her work, trying to ignore the crescendo of a contraction that forced her to grip the stage pole for support. She did her best to turn the near-collapse into a rather theatrical twirl, and landed as gracefully as she could off the stage on the right.
	
	“And who do I have the pleasure of serving tonight?” she nickered.
	
	The dalmatian put his drink aside and patted his lap. “Jacob,” he answered, “Varrin's the stripy one over there, and I do believe you've already met Dezzy.”
	
	Bea gave the speckled stallion a wink and ambled up onto the couch with considerable difficulty. She crawled up onto the canine's lap and faced away from him, flagging her tail to the side and pushing her rear against his pelvis. She could feel his bulge through his underwear, and it made her smile. She placed her hands behind her head and began to roll her hips along that bulge, keeping her belly and breasts protruding in hopes of appeasing the two equines. The two growing bulges between their legs told her that it worked. 
	
	The dalmatian whined softly, leaning back onto the couch. His underwear was almost painfully tight, and Bea could feel his knot start to expand between her thighs. She felt another contraction coming, and doubled over onto her stomach, clutching it as the pain continued to build. She couldn't let it distract her. Foal or not, she had one last job to do. She put all her energy into gyrating those hips, and let out a heated huff as the pain melted away into pleasure.  Judging from the telltale whines and moans from beneath her, he was still getting the better part of the deal. Even through the two layers of clothing between them, she could still feel the throbbing flesh press against her delicate nether-petals. She rubbed her hands seductively across her chest, watching as the two equines shuffled out of their undergarments and kicked them onto the ground. If she wasn't an equine herself, the sight of those two enormous shafts would have made her more than a little nervous.
	
	The filly felt a hand creeping up her leg, and she slapped it away playfully.
	
	“ah-ah-ah,” she nickered, “You just sit back and enjoy, spotty. Baybea has you taken care off!” She put her hands on his knees and adjusted her position, giving him a view of her tan-furred flanks before swishing her tail across his face playfully and returning to her work. She leaned back to expose her belly and slide those hips almost off his lap before rocking back. Her customer was starting to get fidgety. “Not too fast, big boy,” she teased, slowing down the rocking of her hips to an agonizingly slow pace. The dog beneath her whined, practically pleading for her to continue. 
	
	Another contraction flared up from deep within the falabella's midsection. They were not only getting faster, but getting worse. She could see her belly visibly contract and shudder this time, and she knew she couldn't last much longer. But neither would her customer. She channelled the roaring pain of the contraction into a feverish bucking of her hips, grinding against the turgid shaft beneath her at a frantic pace.
	
	The dalmatian gripped the couch with his claws and whined as he pushed his hips upwards, and then let out several heavy breaths as he came inside his drawers, the wasted seed smearing a pasty stain on both his lap and the ink-black outfit of the miniature mare. 
	
	“S-so good!” he bayed, arching his back with each throb. Bea only smiled and gave the sticky bulge an affectionate pat. She could feel another contraction starting. It felt like her belly was boiling. She took a deep breath and crawled across the couch. It was a tried-and-true part of one of her favourite dances, but it also cleverly disguised the fact that she probably couldn't stand if she tried. She was still aroused enough from her rather close lap-dance that the pain wasn't bothering her – she knew that if she could possibly stay aroused long enough, she could avoid foaling all over someone's lap.
	
	“Dezzy, was it?” the filly asked as she made her way between the couches, “It appears I have far too many clothes on for this room. Care to help me out with that?”
	
	The speckled stallion nearly jumped at the chance, putting his toned arm around the little mare beside him and gently removing one of her straps.
	
	“I'm surprised you're not busting out of that thing,” he nickered.
	
	Bea politely covered a chuckle. “Not yet!”
	
	Inside her head, Bea thought she might indeed start tearing off her revealing costume if she kept it on any longer. It was warm in the club already, and the exertion of her work was causing her to work up more than a bit of a sweat. She wriggled her other shoulder out of the strap and unsnapped her leggings, lifting up her leg to slowly peel them off. Varrin the zebra looked like he was quite enjoying the show, his eyes practically burning a hole through the filly's top. But he was quite patient, keeping himself standing at attention while he waited for his turn.
	
	“Much better,” Bea nickered, shaking her mane out and running her hands along her sweat-slicked body.  She clambered up onto Dezzy's lap and took his hard shaft in her hand, pushing his hands away. “It's my turn now.”	
	
	She planted her feet on either side of his lap and supported herself on his shoulders before lowering herself down onto the flared tip of his shaft. It was large, almost too large for her to take comfortably, but she reminded herself that even though she was on the smaller side, she was still a mare – this is what she was designed for. 
	
	Another contraction gripped her, and her knees turned to jelly. Down she sank with a gasp, and the speckled stud beneath her whinnied in alarm at the sudden over-stimulation. Bea shuddered, speechless. They were almost pelvis-to-pelvis, which meant that there was at least twelve inches of horsemeat inside her. Had she not been enormously pregnant, she was sure there would be a bulge where his massive shaft stretched her insides. 
	
	“Oh – too deep!” she stammered, clutching one hand to her belly in an attempt to soothe her throbbing womb. She wriggled her hips a little. She felt something rubbing against her birth canal in almost every direction, and each touch sent tingles of confusing pleasure down her spine. She could even feel his flared tip rubbing against her already-straining cervix. He had completely bottomed her out.
	
	The mare moved her hips up slightly, using the shoulders of the speechless stallion below her for support. When she let herself drop a second time, it felt like a gong was ringing somewhere deep inside, rattling her to the bone. She started off slow, letting out deep, elongated breaths until the contraction passed. Dezzy grabbed onto her hips and gave her a helping hand, pulling her up and pushing her down gently. Even so, it was still almost too much. But as much as it was, it was still not quite enough to drown out the pain of her cinching belly.
	
	“M-more!” Bea whinnied as she began to buck her hips. Again and again she pushed down harder and harder, feeling the flat head of his horsemeat scrape against the knot of muscle at the end of her birth canal. . .until it slipped. Dezzy whinnied in shock. His lap was suddenly soaked with birth-water, and the pain the miniature mare had been struggling with was suddenly replaced with an overwhelming need to push. The speckled horse below her was practically seeing stars, she was squeezing him so hard. So Dezzy responded the only way he knew how: he pushed back. 
	
	Every muscle in Bea's body wanted that intruding member out of her to make room for her foal. But her mind fought back, demanding more of that satisfying shaft. She tried her best to compromise, clenching down with an almost unnatural grip as she bucked up and down, her little hands drawing angry red lines across the stallion's sweat-slicked gunmetal chest. 
	
	The stallion's previous edging had taken a clear toll on his stamina – He didn't last long against the filly's carnal assault, and in a matter of seconds he was gripping the thighs of his partner and braying loudly, splattering Bea's birth canal with rope after hot, sticky rope of his virile seed. 
	
	For a moment, the room was silent, aside from the heavy breathing of two stallions, a mare, and a dalmatian. 
	
	“Just. . . give me a moment,” Bea panted. She could feel Dezzy's heartbeat through his throbbing shaft. She could also feel something else, pushing out from somewhere deep inside her. She wouldn't be able to keep this up for much longer. But she was almost done. Hopefully this zebra fellow, whoever he was, would be content with a blowjob. She took another deep breath and slowly pulled herself off of Dezzy with a lewd slurp and watched as the thick shaft drooled the slippery fluid onto his lap. She slowly walked over to her third and final customer for the night. “And how shall I serve you?” she smiled, covering the urge to push as best she could.
	
	“Dance,” came the reply, “Like you did earlier.”
	
	Bea blustered. Dance? She was in labour! How was she supposed to dance? Varrin smiled at the confusion. 
	
	“I don't think I stuttered,” he grinned leeringly. “You know where the pole is.”
	
	Bea swallowed hard. “H-how long?”
	
	“As long as it takes.”
	
	The dalmation let out an approving howl, and Dezzy began to clap. Looked like the mare didn't have a choice. The mare slunk her way to the stage, gripping her belly as she shuddered though another contraction. It was enough to make her pause and squat by the edge of the stage. 'as long as it takes' wasn't looking like very long at all. After what seemed like an eternity, she finally managed to climb onto the stage and grip the pole with both hands. She lifted up her leg and began to twirl slowly, turning her back to Dezzy before kicking up her other leg and finishing the twirl. Even while burdened with a heavy foal, she still managed to give the illusion of being weightless. Jacob applauded.
	
	When Bea touched the stage again, her knees simply refused to support her. She was foced into a squat with her back to the stage, and her audience was treated to a flirtatious swish of her tail as well as a strained whinny as the nose of her foal began to peek between her thighs before retreating back inside.
	
	“Yes!” Varrin applauded, slapping his bare knee as the other two boys hooted and cheered with delight. “Keep dancing! And turn around so we can see you properly!” This was turning out to be the best show the three of them had ever seen.
	
	Bea hardly even registered the command. Her mind was swimming, and she didn't have the energy to argue. Her foal was going to be born here, in the Champagne room, in front of three horny strangers and there was nothing that could be done to stop it. So the little mare figured the least she could do was give them the show of a lifetime. She turned around, as ordered, holding the pole in the crook of her arm for support. She settled into a deep squat, spread her legs wide and teased her straining nether lips with her fingers, giving the small crowd a lewd view of the little nose just barely visible between her thighs. 
	
	Jacob was rock-hard for the second time that evening, jerking himself quickly. Dezzy was still trying to recover, and Varrin looked like he might blow any moment. He had stopped teasing himself, and clearly had no trouble relying on sight along to stay hard.
	
	A whinny from the stage loud enough to rattle the walls announced another contraction. Bea gripped the pole with both hands and pushed with all her might. The boys watched, wide-eyed as the little nose grew, bouncing into an elongated equine head. Bea nearly collapsed. This foal was going to be huge. 
	
	“Keep dancing,” Varrin grinned. Bea snorted. It was almost agony to even think about moving, much less dancing. Still, she mustered up the fortitude to at least move in front of the pole with a little flourish. Now her audience had a completely unobstructed view. She placed her hands gingerly on the slimy head of her foal before Varrin snorted in disapproval. “Hands off,” he commanded, “Keep your hands on the pole like a good stripper!”
	
	Tough crowd. Still, Bea obliged. She held the pole above her head and let out an an urgent whinny. The head between her legs began to corkscrew, and only a few moments later, the foal's broad shoulders hove into view. From there, it was a simple matter of gravity. The mare rose slightly from her squat, and the rest of the foal came tumbling out onto the stage with a splash. The little body was almost entirely bay, with the exception of a white smear down the middle of its forehead, just like its mother. It was huge – nine pounds at least, perhaps ten. Most likely some sort of draft cross. Bea was exhausted, clinging onto the pole for dear life and looking like she might collapse at any moment. The umbilical cord dangled between her legs like a slippery, living rope.
	
	Varrin approached the stage with an off-coloured rag to wipe off the newborn's face. The rag was probably supposed to be used for something else, but the zebra thought it more than appropriate considering what was going to happen next.
	
	“It's a little filly!” he announced, placing the rag aside and putting his hand back onto his turgid cock, “And you know what happens to little fillies in the club, right, Bea?”
	
	Without waiting for the mare to respond, Varrin gripped his shaft and tugged, releasing several hours worth of pent-up stallion jizz all over the newborn's glistening body. Thick seed mingled with amniotic fluid, sliding off the little body and leaving trails of white behind. The newborn filly squirmed and gurgled, oblivious. Not one to miss out, Jacob practically leaped out of his seat and rubbed his bright red cock furiously, blasting his own seed onto her head and neck, matting down her short brown mane. 
	
	“Welcome to the world,” Varrin grinned, turning around to grab his discarded clothes and leave. He tossed Bea her own costume, which she promptly used to swaddle her newborn and hold her close, allowing her to nurse. She didn't care that she was being watched. She didn't care about anything except the little life in her arms. Dezzy followed Varrin, reluctantly, and Jacob brought up the rear, the latter leaving another small bundle of bills on the stage. “A tip,” he beamed, “For an excellent performance.”