Bloodlines: part 1

Chapter One: The First Symptoms  
First Person Perspective - Lila Clover

The fluorescent lights buzzed like a hive of agitated bees as Miss Willow wrote "Puberty in Anthros" on the board in loopy cursive. The classroom smelled of disinfectant and the sickly-sweet perfume of over-ripe fruit left too long in the cafeteria. My seat was too small, the plastic digging into my flanks where my human-style uniform didn't quite cover my equine body. My tail kept twitching against my will, the long hairs brushing the floor in a rhythm that matched my quickening pulse.  

I shifted in my seat, the polished wood creaking louder than I'd intended. Across the aisle, Tommy Spur gave me a look I couldn't interpret - something between curiosity and alarm. I focused on keeping my ears forward and still, knowing how they betrayed my emotions. The right one always perked up when I lied to myself about being "fine."  

"Today, class," Miss Willow began, adjusting her glasses on her button nose, "we're going to discuss the biological changes you're experiencing." She clicked a remote, and a diagram appeared on the screen behind her - a simplified drawing of an anthro body with blinking red dots indicating "heat zones." I felt each of those zones humming in my own body, especially the one at the base of my tail.  

"The process is similar to human puberty," she continued, "with some... additional considerations." She pointed to a flowchart titled "Heat Cycles in Equines." The words swam on the page, my vision blurring at the edges. The room suddenly felt too warm, the air thicker, like breathing through a wool blanket.  

My nostrils flared without permission, catching a whiff of something musky and male that made my stomach clench pleasantly. I glanced around, trying to locate the source, but everyone else looked as bored or confused as usual. Only Daisy Petal, three rows up, was nodding along, her hooves neatly folded under her desk like the perfect little mare she was.  

"Can anyone tell me the average duration of a first heat in female anthros?" Miss Willow asked, scanning the room.  

Tommy's hand shot up. "Two weeks?"  

"Close, Mr. Spur. The correct answer is approximately two weeks, though this can vary." Her eyes landed on me. "Miss Clover? Care to share what you're feeling at this moment?"  

All eyes turned to me. My left ear flattened against my skull before I could stop it. Heat flooded my face - the human part, anyway. My coat remained its normal chestnut color, thankfully.  

"I-I'm fine," I stammered. The lie made my right ear perk up defiantly.  

"Are you certain? You seem... flushed." Miss Willow's tone was clinical, but there was a glint in her eye that made me wonder if she somehow knew.  

"I just... need some water," I mumbled, gathering my books.  

"Very well. Be quick about it."  

As I stood, a rush of warmth pooled between my legs, making me gasp. It felt like liquid honey was spilling through me, slow and sticky. I clutched the desk to steady myself, but my hooves slipped on the slick wood.  

The entire class seemed to inhale at once. I knew, without looking, that they could smell it now - the sweet, earthy aroma that had no business coming from a schoolgirl. My face burned hotter than the sunbaked fields back home.  

I fled the room on unsteady legs, my tail swishing back and forth in what I realized too late was the mating pattern my father had always told me to "save for when you're older, and you find the right stallion."  

The hallway was mercifully empty. I pressed my forehead against the cool tile wall and focused on breathing. In... out... just like Papa had taught me when I got nervous about thunderstorms.  

But this wasn't thunder. This was something older, deeper. A drumbeat in my blood that my human half couldn't translate.  

When I finally returned to class, the lesson had moved on to "Appropriate Mating Rituals in Public Spaces." The girls were practicing a polite decline - head tilted slightly away, left hoof extended to indicate "not interested."  

I sat back down, hyper-aware of every inch of my body. My coat felt too sensitive, like I could feel individual grains of dust settling on it. My uniform scratched in places it hadn't before. And between my legs... God, it was like there was a live ember pulsing there, sending waves of heat up into my stomach.  

Miss Willow droned on about "healthy outlets for desire" as I surreptitiously pressed my thighs together. It didn't help. If anything, it made the sensation sharper, more urgent.  

The final bell rang, and I bolted from the room before anyone could look at me again. My hooves clattered on the linoleum as I raced to my locker, the combination coming to me slowly through the fog in my brain.  

As I reached for my bag, a familiar voice made me freeze.  

"Rough day, Starlight?"  

Tommy Spur leaned against the lockers, his blond tail swinging gently behind him. His scent hit me again - that musky, male smell that made my knees wobble.  

"Just the usual," I lied, my traitorous ear giving me away immediately.  
  

"Yeah, I bet," he said, not unkindly. "Heard it hits some fillies harder than others." He pushed off from the locker and took a step closer. Too close. I could see the individual hairs in his coat, feel the warmth radiating off him.  

"It's not - I mean, I'm not -"  

"I know," he interrupted softly. "You want your first time to be special, right?" His hoof came up to rest on my shoulder, and I didn't pull away. "I could show you some things, if you want. No pressure."  

His touch sent a jolt through me that ended between my legs. For a second, I actually considered it. It would be so easy to just... let go. To let him lead me somewhere private and do whatever he wanted.  

Then I imagined my father's face - his gentle eyes and the way his hooves always smelled like fresh earth and honest work. The image was enough to douse the fire in my belly with cold shame.  

"I... can't," I whispered. "I'm sorry, Tommy."  

"No need to apologize," he said, dropping his hoof. "But for what it's worth... if you change your mind, you know where to find me."  

As he walked away, I wondered if I'd just made the biggest mistake of my life. The logical part of me knew I wasn't ready - wasn't emotionally prepared to handle everything that came with... with what Tommy was offering. But the primal part - the equine part that seemed to be growing louder by the minute - screamed that I was a fool for passing up a willing stallion.  

By the time I got home, I was a mess of contradictions. My human half wanted a bath and a good night's sleep to "reset" things. My equine half wanted to roll in the grass and let the sunshine warm every inch of my coat as I waited for... someone.  

As I approached the house, I noticed something odd. The living room curtains were open, which never happened when Papa was home. He liked his privacy, especially on the days he worked from the farm office.  

I stepped inside, calling, "Papa? I'm home!"  

No answer.  

The TV was on, though - some nature documentary about wild mustangs. I watched, transfixed, as the stallions vied for dominance, bodies slick with sweat, manes tossed back. The camera lingered on a filly - young, like me - standing aside with her dam while the males fought for the right to...  

My thoughts spiraled into territory I wasn't sure I was ready to explore.  

"Starlight?"  

Papa's voice came from the hallway. I spun around, nearly losing my balance as another wave of heat washed over me.  

"There you are," he said, smiling. His coat looked a bit duller than usual, I noticed. Stressed from work, probably. "How was school?"  

"Fine," I lied immediately. Both ears gave me away this time, and Papa's smile faltered.  

"Is this about the... changes we discussed?" he asked gently. "Remember, it's all natural. You're becoming a young mare."  

Hearing him say it made my face burn. I nodded, unable to speak past the knot in my throat.  

"Well, if you need anything - advice, or just someone to listen - you know where to find me, right?" He stepped closer and rested a hoof on my shoulder, much like Tommy had. But where Tommy's touch had sparked something dangerous, Papa's made me feel safe... and something else I couldn't name.  

"Always, Papa," I whispered.  

He kept his hoof there a moment longer than usual, looking at me with an expression I'd never seen before - pride, yes, but also something sadder, older. Like he was seeing several versions of me at once: the filly I was, the mare I'd become, maybe even the dam I might be someday, God willing.  

Then he gave my shoulder a final squeeze and turned toward his office. "I've got some spreadsheets to finish, but come get me if you need anything. And remember -"  

"I know, Papa." I finished for him. "If it's got hooves and a pulse, it's not a suitable confidant."  

He chuckled, the sound as warm and familiar as fresh-baked bread. "That's right. Now get some rest. Big day tomorrow - we're planting the north field."  

As he disappeared into the office, I stood there feeling... wrong. My body was doing things I couldn't control, thinking things I couldn't admit, even to myself.  

It was then that I made my decision.  

If my body needed this - if it needed to be with a stallion - then I would choose one. But not just any stallion. Not some random boy at school who would forget my name by next week.  

No, if I had to go through this, there was only one stallion who would do.  

Only one whose approval would make this twisted need feel even slightly right.  

I crept down the hall to Papa's office, listening to make sure he was distracted. The click-clack of his typing filled the silence. Good.  

In my room, I rummaged through my dresser until I found what I needed - an old shirt of Papa's that still smelled like him. Sunlight and honest work and something uniquely male.  

I buried my face in it, inhaling deeply. Instantly, the ache between my legs intensified. I gasped, clutching the shirt to my chest as I collapsed on the bed.  

This was bad. So bad. But with Papa's scent surrounding me, it didn't feel wrong, exactly. Just... secret. Like a dream I'd wake up from with a flushed face and a racing heart.  

I closed my eyes, focusing on the phantom scent at the base of his mane - the one I always tried not to notice when he hugged me. Slowly, the fantasy took shape:  

Papa finding me like this - vulnerable, needy - and understanding without words what I required. Not some boy my age with fumbling hooves, but a mature stallion who knew how to handle a filly in heat.  

In the daydream, his hooves skimmed up my legs, pushing my skirt aside. His breath was hot against my ear as he whispered that it was all right, that he was here, that he'd always taken care of me and he always would...  

The fantasy-Papa nuzzled aside my panties with his nose, his whiskers tickling me as he...  

I sat bolt upright, my heart pounding. The shirt fell from my fingers.  

What was I doing? These thoughts weren't just inappropriate - they were disloyal. Papa had done nothing but take care of me since Mama died. He deserved my respect, not... not these twisted imaginings.  

I threw the shirt back in the drawer and buried my face in my pillow, willing the heat in my body to subside.  

But as I lay there, I couldn't shake the memory of how it had felt to breathe in Papa's scent - how natural it had felt, like coming home to something I'd always needed but never known I was missing.  

And in the darkest corner of my heart, a terrible thought took root:  

Maybe home wasn't just a place.  

Maybe it was a person.  

And maybe, just maybe...  

I was already there.  

---  

The afternoon sun beat down relentlessly as I trudged back to the barn, my hooves sinking slightly in the soft earth. Papa had given me a list of chores longer than my tail - mending fences, rotating the pasture, and refilling the water troughs for the livestock.  

It wasn't the work itself that bothered me. I loved the farm, loved the honest sweat and sore muscles that came at the end of a day well spent. What bothered me were the... distractions.  

Everywhere I looked, I saw mating.  

A pair of rabbits in the north field, the male mounting the female with quick, efficient thrusts. Two of our chickens getting aggressive in the coop, feathers flying as they determined dominance. Even the damn butterflies seemed to be at it, their delicate bodies locked together as they tumbled through the air like winged snowflakes.  

And me? I was alone, my first heat still raging through my body like a grass fire. I'd woken up that morning so wet I'd had to change the sheets, terrified Papa would notice. But he'd been lost in his spreadsheets as usual, barely looking up when I set his coffee beside him.  

I finished the last chore - checking the mare's hooves for stones - and practically ran back to the barn. The interior was cooler, the thick wooden walls blocking the worst of the heat. I breathed in deeply, savoring the smell of hay and horseflesh and age-polished wood.  

That's when I heard it.  

At first, I thought it was the wind rustling through the hayloft, or maybe one of the animals shifting in its stall. But then it came again - a low, rhythmic thudding, followed by a sound that made my ears prick forward.  

It sounded like... grunting.  

Moving on silent hooves, I crept toward the sound. It was coming from the last stall on the right - the one we used for foaling mares. My curiosity flared. Had one of the mares gone into labor early?  

I pressed my eye to the crack between the slats, peering inside.  

What I saw made all the air leave my lungs in a rush.  

Papa was there, standing on his tiptoes on an old milking stool. But he wasn't alone.  

One of our prize mares - a beautiful palomino named Cinnamon - stood facing the wall, her tail wrapped neatly to one side. And behind her, his powerful haunches flexing with each thrust, was Papa.  

My mind struggled to catch up with what my eyes were seeing. Papa's... his... it was inside Cinnamon. Moving. In and out, in and out, each thrust making the stool creak ominously beneath his weight.  

Cinnamon whinnied softly, arching her neck in pleasure. Papa grunted again, his hands gripping her withers for leverage as he picked up speed.  

I should have looked away. I should have bolted from the barn and never spoken of it again.  

Instead, I found myself reaching under my skirt.  

The heat between my legs had become an inferno. I gasped as my fingers found their target, already so slick that I slid one finger inside myself with embarrassing ease.  

I mimicked Papa's rhythm, my fingers moving in time with his thrusts. Cinnamon was trembling now, her knees buckling slightly with each impact. Papa made a low, guttural sound I'd never heard from him before - possessive, primal.  
  

I added a second finger, my thumb finding that sensitive spot at the apex of my sex. The stimulation was perfect - just rough enough, just relentless enough.  

Papa's thrusts grew more erratic. Cinnamon cried out, her whole body tensing as her sex contracted rhythmically around him. I knew that feeling - that exquisite clenching and release. But I'd only ever experienced it alone in my bed, never with... never with something inside me.  

Papa let out a strangled groan and buried himself deep in Cinnamon's body. I felt a hot, vicious stab of jealousy toward the mare, followed instantly by shame. This was wrong. All of it - spying on Papa, touching myself, wishing it was me feeling his weight, his strength...  

But knowing it was wrong only made it better.  

My climax hit me like a hurricane, bowing my back and making me bite my own forearm to keep from crying out. I rode it out in silent ecstasy, my eyes never leaving the joined pair in the stall.  

By the time my breathing returned to normal, Papa was standing on the ground again, his coat gleaming with sweat. Cinnamon stood docilely as he gently cleaned her with a soft cloth, murmuring praises under his breath.  

I couldn't take it anymore.  

I turned and fled the barn on shaking legs, not stopping until I reached the house. I busied myself with starting dinner - beef stew, one of Papa's favorites - trying to lose myself in the familiar motions of chopping carrots and cubing meat.  

But the image of him followed me. The way he'd moved. The sounds he'd made. The way Cinnamon had taken him, welcomed him, given herself over to his needs without question or shame.  

By the time Papa came in from the barn, washed up and ready for dinner, I had myself under control. Mostly.  

"This looks wonderful, Starlight," he said, kissing the top of my head as he sat down. His scent hit me like a punch to the gut - sweat and musk and male satisfaction.  

"Thanks, Papa," I managed. "I thought you might be extra hungry after... after working so hard."  

He paused, his spoon halfway to his mouth. "Is that a dig at my age, young lady?"  

"No! Of course not. Just... I know farm work is tiring. For anyone."  

"Good." He resumed eating. "Because I may not be as young as I once was, but I can still hold my own." His eyes twinkled. "Especially with the mares."  

My face burned. I stared into my bowl, willing myself not to look up. Not to let him see the thoughts behind my eyes.  

Dinner continued in mostly comfortable silence, broken only by Papa's occasional comments about the meal. I excused myself early, claiming homework, and made a beeline for my room.  

Once safely behind my closed door, I leaned against it and let out a shuddering breath. I could still smell Papa on me - his kiss on my head, his scent lingering in my nostrils. It was too much.  

I kicked off my shoes and laid back on the bed, my skirt riding up without my permission. The material rubbed against my most sensitive areas with every movement, driving me mad slowly.  

Just a little, I told myself. Just enough to take the edge off.  

My fingers found their way under my panties again, and I was wetter than ever. I threw one leg up, spreading myself for better access, and began to work my clit with quick, firm strokes.  

Images flashed through my mind in rapid succession - Papa mounting Cinnamon, Tommy's offer at school, the way the male rabbits had moved earlier. But most of all, I pictured Papa. His strength, his confidence, the way he'd taken what he needed without hesitation.  

I wanted that. No, I needed it. Needed him.  

In my fantasy, it was my neck he nipped gently before mounting me. My sex he filled with thick, delicious pressure. My cries he muffled with his hand as he rode me hard into the fresh straw of the foaling stall.  

I came with his imagined name on my lips, muffling the sound in my pillow. The orgasm left me shaken but unsatisfied, the core of my need still throbbing impatiently.  

As I drifted into an exhausted sleep, one thought followed me into dreams:  

If Papa could give Cinnamon what she needed... maybe he could give it to me, too.  

---  

I washed thoroughly that night, paying special attention to the area between my legs. The soap stung slightly, a reminder of my earlier transgressions. My tail kept swishing in agitation as I toweled off, my ears occasionally flicking back as if listening for something.  

"Get a hold of yourself, Lila," I muttered, borrowing Papa's no-nonsense tone. "You're not an animal. You're a young mare with... with self-control."  

The words sounded hollow even to my own ears. I pulled on my nightgown ? a modest flannel affair that suddenly felt too rough against my sensitive skin.  

Sleep was a long time coming. My body refused to relax, as if waiting for something ? or someone. Every creak of the house made me tense, expecting Papa's hooves in the hallway. Part of me wanted him to appear in my doorway, to see me like this and finally understand. The other part ? the part that usually won, with a guilty sort of relief ? was grateful for the locked door between us.  

When sleep finally took me, it was not a restful one.  

In my dream, I stood in the living room. The curtains were open, bathing the space in silver moonlight. Everything felt simultaneously familiar and wrong, like a painting with the colors slightly off.  

Papa entered from the kitchen, just as he had a thousand times before. But tonight, he moved differently. There was a new fluidity to his stride, a predatory grace I'd never associated with my gentle father.  

"Lila," he said, my name sounding like it belonged in a different language on his tongue. "It's time."  

"For what?" I asked, though my dreaming self knew the answer.  

He didn't dignify that with a response. Instead, he crossed the room in three strides, backing me against the couch. His presence was overwhelming ? his scent, his size, the heat radiating from his body.  

When he nudged my legs apart with his knee, I made no move to stop him. In the dream, there was no wrongness to this. No conflicted guilt. There was only the bone-deep certainty that this was meant to be.  

His hooves slid up my bare legs, pushing my panties aside and my skirt above my hips. I looked down to see them there between my thighs ? hairless and elegant compared to my slightly furry legs. The contrast sent an odd thrill through me.  

"Look at me, Starlight," Papa commanded softly. I obeyed, finding his eyes dark and intense in the moonlight.  

"Tell me what you want."  

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. My human half was paralyzed by the taboo of it all, while my equine nature simply waited, expecting to be taken as was my place.  

Papa made a sound of impatience and dropped to his knees. Before I could process what was happening, his mouth was on me ? his tongue gentle but firm against the most sensitive parts of me.  

My dream-self keened, one hand automatically burying itself in his mane while the other gripped the couch cushion so hard my knuckles turned white. He worked me over tirelessly, never varying his pace or pressure, as if he'd done this a thousand times before.  

The first orgasm hit me hard enough to make me scream. In the dream, no one came to investigate ? there was only Papa and me and the ancient, wordless thing happening between us.  

Before I could fully recover, Papa stood, his face gleaming in the dark. He guided my legs apart again, this time wider, and pressed against my entrance with the firm length of himself.  

"I'll try not to hurt you, Starlight," he murmured, nuzzling the sensitive spot behind my ear ? the one he'd always attacked when I was little, just to make me giggle.  

Then he pushed inside.  

The stretch burned, but so, so good. In the dream, I was simultaneously too tight and just right, my body yielding to his with a wet slickness that eased his way.  

"There's my good girl," he growled against my throat, his breath hot and enticing. "Take it all. Take Papa's cock."  

Those filthy words coming from his mouth ? my papa's mouth! ? sent me spiraling into another climax. He began to move then, his thrusts sure and measured, as if he had all the time in the world to make me his.  

I lost count of the orgasms after the third. They seemed to stack atop each other, building and cresting in an endless wave of pleasure that left me limp and trembling beneath him.  

Only when I had nothing left to give did he groan deeply and bury himself to the hilt inside me. I felt a warm flood spreading through me, filling me in a way that was both strange and perfect.  

After, he simply stood, helping me to sit up on shaky legs. His seed was leaking out of me already, a sticky reminder of what we'd done. What he'd done to me.  

"I've waited a long time to catch you in heat, little one," he said, tucking a stray strand of my mane behind one ear. "But don't worry ? Papa's got you now. No one else will ever touch what's mine again."  

The dream faded then, leaving me gasping and flushed in my own bed. moonlight streamed through the windows, telling me it was still late.  Or early. I couldn't be sure.  

I slid a hand between my legs with trembling certainty. Sure enough, I was absolutely drenched down there, my panties ruined. Again.  

This had to stop.  

But as I lay there, feeling the echo of that dream in my body, I couldn't quite bring myself to mean it. Not fully. Not yet.  

---  

I couldnft sleep. Not after that dream.

After tossing and turning for nearly an hour, I finally threw off the covers with a frustrated huff. My body was still on fire, and I knew what I needed.

I crept to my dresser, careful not to let the floorboards creak, and found clean panties. Or tried to, anyway. My fingers closed around lace instead of cotton, and I froze.

These were my gspecial occasionh panties ? the ones Ifd bought with birthday money from my aunt, thinking I might wear them forc someone. They were red with little black bows, ridiculously sexy compared to my usual practical underwear.

I almost put them back. Almost.

But then I remembered how Papa had looked at me over dinner ? really looked at me ? and something reckless overtook me.

I pulled on the lacy panties and a simple skirt and blouse. No need to get fancy, I told myself. This was purely practical. I needed relief, and the barn was empty this time of night.

Besides, Ifd made a promise to myself not to touch myself in the house anymore. Too risky, especially after that dream.

The night air was cool against my cheeks as I slipped out the back door, using the porch light to navigate through the dark farmyard. Crickets provided a soothing background hum, occasionally interrupted by the soft snort of one of our horses.

I was halfway to the barn when I caught his scent ? sharp and musky and undeniably male. My heart tripped over itself as I recognized it as Thunderfs scent, from our prize stallion.

Thunder wasc well, he was everything a mare could want. Powerful, graceful, with a gleaming black coat and a mane that rippled like silk in the wind. And an attitude to match ? he didnft take guff from anyone, human or anthro alike.

Including Papa, who always emerged from their encounters with new grey hairs in his mane.

I slowed my approach to the barn, suddenly unsure. What if Thunder was in one of his moods? The last thing I needed was to be on the receiving end of a well-placed kick.

But as I slid the barn door open and stepped inside, a different scenario occurred to me.

What if he wasnft?

Memories of Papa with Cinnamon flashed through my mind, unbidden and unwelcome. But alsoc exciting, in a forbidden way I didnft want to examine too closely.

The breeding stand sat at the far end of the barn, a sturdy contraption of wood and metal that Papa used forc well, for what Ifd seen him do with Cinnamon. Only instead of a live mare, hefd use an artificial one ? a device called a breeding stick that mimicked the real thing closely enough to satisfy a stallionfs needs.

And earn a pretty penny from breeders, I remembered. Papa had been clear that was why we kept two stallions on a farm meant for simple crop-growing. Thunder and his companion, Comet, were valuable without lifting a hoof.

I approached the breeding stand almost shyly, as if it might judge me for what I was considering. It stood about yea high at thec well, at the business end, with sturdy legs and a wide base to prevent tipping.

gDonft be silly,h I told myself aloud. My voice sounded too loud in the quiet barn. gItfs just an object. And you need this.h

I needed the release. I needed to take control of this heat before it took control of me ? before I did something truly stupid, like throw myself at Tommy Spur or (God help me) at Papa himself.

With trembling hands, I removed the breeding stick from its housing. Papa always kept it clean and ready, just in case a breeding appointment came up with short notice.

It felt heavier than expected, the simulated vagina made of some sort of rubberized material with a wider hole than I would have expected. Almostc mare-sized.

Almost my-sized.

I quickly replaced the stick in the housing, my face flaming. What was I thinking? This was absurd. I might as well justc just go find Thunder and present myself to him like a common broodmare.

But that was the point, wasnft it? I didnft want to be Lila Clover, dutiful daughter and responsible preteen. I wanted to be a mare in heat, taken and used and bred by something strong and sure and male.

And if I couldnft have that ? really have that, with a living, breathing stallion ? then maybe the next best thing would do.

I moved some of the surrounding bales of hay to create a sort of ramp. It wouldnft do to strain myself trying to reach the stand ? Ifd already strained enough today in, well, other ways.

 Once everything was positioned to my satisfaction, I grabbed a few of Papafs softest rags and stuffed them into the housing. It wouldnft be comfortable, exactly, but it would be better than cold wood.

I had one last moment of clarity as I stood before my creation, skirt in hand.

I could still stop this. I could go back to the house, clean up, and finish out my heat with quiet dignity. No one would know. No one would ever have to know.

But my body was making demands my mind couldnft argue with. Ifd wanted this ? wanted something like this ? since Ifd first smelled Papa on his shirt, since Ifd first seen him mount Cinnamon with such easy confidence.

Since Ifd first realized that my heat wouldnft just go away if I ignored it.

With a decisive nod, I led Thunder into the breeding area. He regarded me with his usual haughty disinterest ? I was still a filly to him, beneath his notice.

That would change soon enough.

I positioned him beside the stand and gave the signal Papa always used. To my surprise, Thunder took his place without argument, his interest clearly caught by whatever pheromones I was putting out.

Hiking my skirt around my hips, I pulled my new panties to the side. The cool night air kissed my exposed sex, and I bit my lip against the urge to touch myself one last time.

Instead, I climbed the hay bale ramp and positioned myself over the breeding stand. It was awkward, and more than a little ridiculous-looking, I imagined.

But as I laid on my belly and crawled into the tube where the artificial receptacle would normally have sat, all thoughts of embarrassment fled.

This was it. This was really happening.

Ifd just gotten fully settled ? my knees on comfortable pads of hay, my forearms braced against the wooden supports ? when Thunder lost patience.

He mounted in one smooth motion, his front hooves gripping the stand while his powerful hindquarters drove his engorged length straight into my waiting sex.

I screamed into the wooden confines, the sound echoing back to me. There was no teasing, no slow stretch to acclimate me to his size. He was inside me to the hilt in that first thrust, my virgin body forced to accommodate him whether it wanted to or not.

And God, did I want it. I was wet enough to take him, but only barely. Each subsequent thrust pressed me into the wood, creating delicious friction against my clit that I could never quite replicate with my own fingers.

This was what Ifd needed. What my heat had been driving me toward all along.

To be filled. To be taken. To be bred by something so much stronger than myself, with no words and no complications and no regrets.

Thunderfs movements grew more urgent, his grunts vibrating through the stand and into my body. I felt his muscles coiling beneath his coat, felt the power in each impact as he bottomed out inside me again and again.

gPlease,h I begged, not even sure what I was asking for. More? Less? All of it?

All of it. God, all of it.

My climax built slowly this time, a mounting wave of pleasure that started in my core and spread outward. By the time it hit, I was slick with sweat and Thunderfs rhythm had grown erratic.

He came inside me with a bellow that Ifm sure they heard in the next county, his seed flooding me with wet warmth. I clenched around him greedily, determined to keep every drop, every last bit of his essence inside me where it belonged.

Where I needed it to be.

He remained inside me for long moments afterward, gradually softening. When he finally pulled out, I felt his seed begin to escape me, a steady trickle down my thighs that seemed horribly inefficient after all my body had done to earn it.

I needed to get up. To clean myself, tend to Thunder, get back to the house before Papa woke and found me missing.

But as I tried to extract myself from the breeding stand, I discovered my mistake. The position that had seemed so convenient for being mounted was utterly impractical for anything else.

The stand held me tight, my hips pinned at just the right height for breeding but impossible to move any other way. I pushed and pulled and finally resorted to kicking, but it was no use.

I was well and truly stuck.

Just as I started to panic in earnest, a shadow fell over me.

Thunder had finished his post-coital wash-up and come looking for more attention. Or, I realized with a jolt, for another cycle.

His interest was plain to see, and I suddenly understood why Papa always kept the breeding stand stocked with fresh hay.

Stallions, as it turned out, recovered quickly.

Thunder mounted me again before I could do more than gasp. This time, I was better prepared for his size ? not that it would have mattered if I werenft. He took what he wanted, what he needed, forcing my reluctant body to accept all of him.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Five more times, to be exact, before he finally lost interest and wandered back to his stall for a well-deserved rest. I lost count of my orgasms somewhere after the third, my over-stimulated body unable to distinguish between pleasure and pain.

By the time I finally worked free from the stand ? leaving splinters in my panties as a souvenir ? I could barely walk. My legs trembled with the effort of holding me upright, and I knew without looking that my panties were absolutely ruined.

I found my way back to the house on autopilot, my mind blessedly blank of everything but the need for a shower and sleep. Lots of sleep.

As the warm water washed away the evidence of my indiscretions, my brain finally caught up with my bodyfs adventures.

Ifd let a stallion ? my fatherfs prize stallion ? have me. Willingly. Repeatedly.

And Ifd do it again. As soon as my body recovered, I would absolutely do it again.

The thought was terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.

As I collapsed into bed clean and exhausted, one last thought followed me into sleep:

Ifd need to modify that breeding stand before next time.

Make it easier to get out, but maybe not too easyc

---  

**Chapter Five: The Aftermath**  
The next morning found me moving a bit gingerly, but able to get through my chores without too much difficulty. Papa noticed nothing, thank God, though he did comment that I seemed a bit flushed.

gMust be the heat,h Ifd told him with a straight face, and hefd laughed.

If only he knew.

At school, I found it hard to concentrate. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Thunder above me, inside me, using me for his pleasure and myc well, my pleasure too.

It was all too easy to imagine that it was Papa instead, holding me in place and fucking me however he pleased. Papafs eyes, Papafs voice, but Thunderfs strength and endurance.

I came dangerously close to embarrassing myself during math class, and had to excuse myself to the bathroom for some emergency cleaning and reorganization of my clothing.

As I stood at the sink rearranging myself, I caught my reflection in the mirror. My face was flushed, my eyes bright, and my expression held an odd sort of satisfaction Ifd never seen before.

 I looked like a different filly entirely ? like someone who knew what she wanted and wasnft afraid to take it.

Like someone whofd been well and truly bred.

The thought sent a fresh wave of heat through me, and I had to brace myself against the sink or risk falling. How was this my life now? And how was I ever going to go back to gnormalh after this?

I returned to class with my panties ruinously wet, determined to make it through the rest of the day without incident.


Fate, it seemed, had other plans.

As I was packing my bag after the final bell, I nearly collided with Rachel, a blue-furred wolf anthro whofd been my desk neighbor since first grade. She stood with a group of our mutual friends ? a mixed bunch of species and genders whofd formed an amorphously shifting friend group over the years.

gLila! Just the filly we were looking for,h Rachel said, looping her arm through mine before I could protest. Her tail wagged excitedly behind her, thumping against my leg in rhythm.

gHey, Rachel. Whatfs up?h I asked, trying to ignore the dampness that was undoubtedly seeping through my panties onto my skirt.

gOh, nothing much,h she said with exaggerated innocence, leading me toward our usual lunch table. The others had already settled in, and they scooted down to make room for me.

gActually,h said Daisy Petal, leaning across the table with a conspiratorial expression, gRachel has some news she wanted to share with all of us. Girl stuff.h

The others nodded eagerly. Only Marcus, our resident shy deer, looked uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. He busied himself inspecting his hooves under the table.

gWell,h Rachel began, clearly enjoying being the center of attention, gmy older sister is back from college.h

A chorus of goohsh went up around the table. College was this mystical, adult place none of us could quite imagine yet, despite it being just a few short years away for us.

gShefs home for the summer,h Rachel continued, gbut therefs a catch. Shefsc umc how did she put it? eIn a delicate condition.fh

gIn a what?h Tommy Spur asked, scratching his head.

gYou know.h Daisy Petal pantomimed a rounded belly. gShefs eating for two...more... these days.h

Realization dawned on the group, followed by the usual barrage of questions. How far along was she? Was she keeping it? Did she have a serious boyfriend?

gWhofs the sire?h Tommy asked bluntly. He always did appreciate getting straight to the point.

Rachel glanced around, as if afraid of being overheard in the empty courtyard. gHerefs the thing ? itfs not an anthrofs,h she whispered. gMy sister saysc she says it was a dog.h

As one, we stared at her. The idea was absurd ? species didnft cross like that, everyone knew that. Ferals were off-limits romantically, much lessc much less reproductively.

gNo way,h I said, finding my voice. gThatfs not possible. Right, guys?h

Rachel held up her hands defensively. gI didnft believe her at first either. But she showed me a calendar and everything ? shefs got almost three months until shefs due.h

Daisy Petal frowned. gButc ferals and anthros canft make puppies together. Everyone knows that.h

gTell that to my sister,h Rachel said grimly. gApparently it happened at some party ? she was drunk, and one thing sort of led to anotherch

gSo shefs going to keep it?h I asked quietly. Despite the strangeness of the situation, I couldnft help but feel a pang of sympathy for Rachelfs sister. Unplanned pregnancies were stressful enough without the added complication of mixed parentage.

gKeep it? Are you kidding?h Rachelfs ears flattened against her skull. gHer parents know shefs pregnant, but not that itfs a feralfs. Shefs freaking out trying to think of how to tell them.h

Marcus finally joined the conversation, his quiet voice a welcome respite from the excited chatter. gWhat are they going to do withc with the puppys?h he asked.

Rachel shrugged. gNo idea. I think shefs hoping they be more anthro than feral? Maybe she can pass it off as just beingc different?h

The group fell silent, considering the implications. It was one thing to fool around with a feral ? though still considered in poor taste by most, it did happen from time to time. But to get pregnant by one? To produce a halfbreed?

I felt sick to my stomach suddenly, acid crawling up my throat. Because if Rachelfs sister could get pregnant by a feralc that meant I could too.

That meant last night with Thunder wasnft just some weird, heat-driven dalliance. It was potentiallyc consequential.

 Life-changing.

I stood abruptly, my chair screeching against the pavement. gIc I have to go,h I managed. gTell Mrs. Willow Ifm not feeling well. Got toc got to go home.h

And without another word, I bolted.

The run home passed in a blur. I barely remembered to watch for cars at the crosswalks, so caught up was I in my spiraling thoughts.

What had I done? What had I been thinking?

Memories of the previous night assaulted me ? the mind-shattering orgasms, the feeling of being utterly taken and used, the sticky aftermath that had seemed like nothing more than an inconvenience at the time.

Now, thoughc now it could mean so much more. Could mean everything.

By the time I reached the farm, Ifd worked myself into a full-blown panic. Papafs truck was gone, thank God ? he must have run into town for supplies.

I barely made it to the bathroom before losing my breakfast, heaving into the toilet until there was nothing left but bitter stomach acid.

I rinsed my mouth and splashed water on my face, studying myself in the mirror. Did I look different now? Did my cheeks seem rounder? My stomach protruding, even slightly?

No, of course not. It was too soon for that. Too soon for any visible signs of what might have happened.

But the possibilityc oh, God, the possibility was enough.

I spent the rest of the afternoon in a daze, unable to concentrate on anything except the terrible, wonderful, horrifying what-ifs swirling through my mind.

Pregnant. Me. Lila Clover ? good student, dutiful daughter, responsible young mare.

Unplanned pregnancy before my first heat had even finished, courtesy of the family stallion.

And loving every moment of it.

Because that was the worst part ? the secret, shameful part I couldnft admit to even myself.

Ifd loved it. Had wanted it, even. Wanted to be filled with Thunderfs seed, to be bred like some common broodmare without a thought in my head beyond being mated and mounting and makingc

Making babies.

gStop it,h I whispered to my reflection as I washed dishes that evening. Papa had commented on my quietness at dinner, but seemed to attribute it to my heat rather than anything more serious.

I wished it were that simple. That all I had to worry about was riding out the rest of my cycle and getting back to normal.

But now? Now I had to face the very real possibility that my actions ? selfish, shameful actions driven by base desire ? could have consequences that would change my life forever.

But the memory wouldnft fade. If anything, it grew stronger with each passing hour.

 By the time evening chores were finished, I knew what I had to do.

What I wanted to do.

Papa was in the barn again, tending to Cinnamon. As I watched from my hiding spot, he crooned to her softly, stroking her mane in a way that seemed almostc loving.

I knew what would happen next. Knew, and couldnft bring myself to look away even as I told myself I should be ashamed.

Letting the stallion have me tonight would be fine. Papa was laying the mare regularly ? surely that would be enough? Surely it would be fine, just this once.

Just because a wolf anthro could apparently breed true with a feral did not automatically mean a horse anthro could do the same with her stallion, right?

Right.

I told myself that as I crept back to the breeding stand. Told myself that as I adjusted the hay bales for easier access. Told myself that as my fingers found their way beneath my waistband, seeking the slick evidence of my own desire.

And God help me, but I kept telling myself that right up until the moment Thunderfs thick length pressed against my entrance, threatening to undo every bit of denial Ifd so carefully constructed.

I was doing the right thing. I was just letting a stallion take care of his mare-in-heat.

Just his mare.

His mare.

His.

Chapter two: Discovery  
First Person Perspective - Cyrus Clover

I finished with Cinnamon as quickly but gently as possible. She was a good girl ? always had been ? and deserved better than a hurried mating in the barn.

But with Lila in heat, I couldnft concentrate. Couldnft focus on anything but the soft sounds from the house, the way her scent seemed to permeate everything these days, how my own body kept reacting to the nearness of a fertile mare.

My own daughter.

I tried not to think about that part too closely. It was just biology, I told myself. Just my stallion side recognizing a receptive mare and responding accordingly.

Nothing more than that.

Nothing.

As I left Cinnamonfs stall, I thought I heard something odd from the far end of the barn. Some furtive movement that didnft sound like any of the animals.

I moved cautiously toward the noise. Could it be a fox after the chickens again? Or something worse ? a wolf, maybe, looking for an easy meal?

I was almost to the breeding stand when a familiar scent hit me like a kick to the gut.

Lila.

My Lila.

Starlight.

I froze, every muscle in my body going taut as iron. Something was wrong ? terribly wrong. Why would Lila be in the barn at this hour, smelling likec likec

Oh, God. Oh, no.

I should have turned away then. Should have gone straight to the house and pretended Ifd never smelled that intoxicating aroma. Never heard those soft, rhythmic grunts from Thunderfs stall.

Instead, I found myself moving forward as if in a trance. As if this were just another dream ? a fantasy to get myself off and forget in the light of day.

But this was no dream.

This was real.

And it was so much worse ? and better ? than any fantasy Ifd ever had.

Lila was there, draped over the breeding stand at just the right height for mounting. Her skirt was pushed up around her waist and her panties shoved to one side, but it wasnft her exposed sex that made my heart stop.

It was Thunder behind her ? my prize stallion, worth more money than I made in two years, and he was balls-deep in my daughter.

My mare.

My Starlight.

Part of me ? a very small part I could barely hear over the pounding of my blood ? wanted to rush in. To pull Thunder off her and yell at them both and lock her in her room until she was too old to go into heat at all.

But a much larger part of me wanted something else entirely.

No, that was a lie. I didnft want it. I needed it.

I needed to see my stallion mount my mare. Needed to see her take it, to take him, to be so full of his seed when he was finished with her that she could never be anything but mine afterward.

Mine to protect, mine to breed, mine toc

I bit my own forearm to stifle the groan rising in my throat. I couldnft be found like this ? couldnft be discovered spying on them, on her, like a pervert.

Like the stallion I was, salivating over a young, fertile mare I had no right to even look at.

But Ifd already looked. Had already seen her presented for mounting, seen Thunderfs cock slide into her with practiced ease, seenc

Oh, God, she was touching herself. Her busy fingers worked between her legs as the stallion pounded into her from behind, each impact making her whole body quake.

And her scent ? that perfect, delicious scent ? was driving me mad. It was flooding the barn, so thick I could practically taste it.

Taste her.

Without realizing it, Ifd unfastened my belt. My hard length stood free of its confines, bobbing heavily as I gave it a few quick strokes.

This was wrong. So wrong.

But so was everything else, wasnft it? Me mourning my dead wife by fucking the livestock. Me using the money from those gdeedsh to send my daughter to the nice school, to buy her new clothes and books and anything else she might want.

Me standing here now, watching my stallion deflower my daughter on the same stand Ifd used to defile her motherfs favorite mare.

Maybe everything was wrong, and there was no right and wrong anymore ? there was just surviving. Just feeling. Just taking what we needed and damn the consequences.

Thunderfs grunting grew more insistent. I watched, transfixed, as he climaxed inside her ? really inside her, with nothing separating them, nothing to prevent his seed from taking root in her fertile belly.

Shefd be pregnant now. No way she wouldnft catch after that. And not just from one cycle, either ? no, my stallion would mount my mare as many times as she could take it tonight.

As many times as I could take watching it happen, my hand moving furiously on my own neglected length.

I came suddenly, unexpectedly, the pleasure overtaking me in a great rush that left me panting and spent against the barn wall.

I hadnft been this caught up in anotherfs mating since I was a young stallion myself, watching the older colts mount the fillies and wishing it was me instead.

But thisc this was somehow worse. Somehow more exciting, more forbidden.

More everything.

I cleaned myself up with a spare rag from the workbench, all the while watching Lila disentangle herself from the stand. She moved like she was drunk ? all wobbly legs and dazed expression ? and I knew without asking that shefd never been taken like that before.

Never been a mare before, for all that shefd thought herself grown just this morning.

As she turned to straighten her clothing, her eyes met mine.
