FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

I lift the bale of hay and toss it over the fence. It lands with a soft crash, tumbling down as I turn for the next. "I can't even imagine what that's like. You said how many guys?"

Carter shakes his head. For a stallion, his mane's buzzed pretty short. His tail wiggles, treated the same. "About twenty? All of them looked like they'd been sent by their wives."

"So much for gay night," I say.

"Bi-night, darling. We hit both intersections, now."

"Whatever." I throw the last bale and walk towards the Westmoreland stallion, eyeing him up and down. "You were looking at them pretty closely, weren't you?"

"Speaking of, when are you going to give some lady a chance at those nice hips of yours?"

I let loose a whinny, lifting a hand to smack him. "I told you it ain't any of your business. Scat, now. Find someone else to tease."

He rolls his eyes. "Dream on."

We move onto the barn and start filling buckets of seed for the birds. The others, a dog and several felines, all work to get the last eggs from their baskets while a couple of pigs spend their time mixing fertilizer. It's synthetic, but it still smells, forcing me to cough and cover my nose with an elbow. "I talked to June on Tuesday. Says we're in for another rush."

"Another one? Who does she think we're selling to?" Carter nods his head and hat to a passing couple of working girls.

"Storm's coming. Says it'll keep through the weekend, so everyone's making their way for produce." He shakes his head as the weed I'm sucking on dangles.

By the time we reach the field it's already starting to grow dark. I grab a handful of seed and throw what I can in big arcs, and the birds all come flying like it's a free-for-all survival match. The crows are first, of course. They've been waiting all day just to get a bite. The chickens and roosters make their way, but this won't be the last we feed them. "I'm planning on doing something fancy this weekend," I say.

"Fancy?" Carter snorts, chest out in front of him like he's showing off to me. "Getting your mane done?"

"Ordered some bits and tack from online, straps and all, but I haven't tried them on yet."

He stops, and I can see the hair on his face turning red from just the thought. "You're kidding me."

"You're the one who just said I should try and get some action, now." I throw a clumped-up ball of seed straight for his gut. "Besides, it's only for fun."

"Right, and I'm just browsing when I go out to these singles meets."

"If I don't try something, then how will I know if it'll stick? Everyone says we have it easier with that stuff. I thought, why not?"

"Because it's...type casting, I guess?" His words tell me all I need to know about the face he's making. I about feel it, too. A mare in fake leather and stir-ups, bit clamped between her teeth. As cute as it'd look, it's the most cliché thing a girl my type could do. But what else do I have? I'm not well a virgin, but I might as well be. For a mare living on the farm, it's hard knowing that getting things done means finding me a man.

Or at least a girl who can hold herself up. I throw the thoughts from me as I hurl some seed at a crow, and I dump the rest to the ground just to see them all squabble. "It'll be fun, all right? That's all it's for."

"Yeah, yeah. Let me know if you're selling tickets or something." He tries to dodge, but I lob the bucket at him. Shows him for being a jerk.

A jerk who gets some, at least.

The farm's split into several homes, each a different level and made for different families. Thankfully, I live alone, bless my mama. The house is two stories with an attic on top, basement on bottom. Four stories, then. Sure. The bottom floor is mainly storage, leaving me on the first with a place to read and have some dinner. With plans to get myself dirty, I'd moved all but the beanbag I'd bought in college away from the living room's center. A large blanket covered the rug, and all my bits and pieces lied waiting for someone to where them.

Chewing through dinner, I stare at the pieces thinking what they all mean. A horse is a horse, of course, of course--but none of it has to do with that old stuff from movies. We're the fighters and workers of the farm, unbeknownst to the donkeys and mules. We lift the heavy stuff, do the dirty work. A bull could lift twice our weight, but that doesn't mean I don't see them shitting the breeze with other cattle.

The clock reads past ten when I feel it's time for bed, so I do what dishes I care for and get myself comfy. No robe, a light top. Most of us like to sleep nude bottom because of the heat that gets going at night. The only things I keep on are my hoof bands, soft fleece anklets that keep me from knocking bone.

I make my way up the stairs to wash up when I first hear a sound, however. My ears flick back downstairs again, as soft jingles sing a smooth song like Christmas. It brings my mane to a stand unlike anything else before. Mom might be with me on these warm country nights, but she's never given me the jitters whenever I sense her. I damn well promise that.

Setting my things at the stairwell's top--books and such--I head back down and peek to see what all the fuss is over. Of course, no one's there, and even if I kept my house unlocked, no one's going to come sneaking in and playing a prank on me. Everyone knows a horse's kick is one straight trail down to the nearest doctor. Worse, a preacher.

"Carter, is that you?" I doubt the fool's made his way inside, but for comfort, I can't help hollering and try to spook the spook right back. "I swear, if you try and jump at me, I'll kick you the fuck back in your daddy's tubes."

Nothing else seems to stir for a while. Taking my own words for bravery, I step out to look for this intruder, if they're even there. The only thing I find is my gear, lying out on the floor in a rough shape of my body. I'm alone; even the doors are locked just to prove I'm going crazy. How did all that gear get set-up on the floor?

It spooks me to shivers, but I had to see what it's about. Carter surely has some part to play in this. Who else? "Still blaming that stupid horse for this," I say. I walk close to the tack before I lower and sit down against the bit supposed to be hanging in my jaw. "Well, here we are. I guess I might as well try you on, huh?"

I lift up the gear starting from the bottom. It's heavy, obviously made for someone wanting to be a working show horse. The straps cling as they collide against each other, and sliding them up my legs, they feel right, fit perfectly along the curve of my muscles. I'm at my waist, snapping together a belt turned chastity garb, when something clicks in my ear. It's like a feeling, one you might get when you suddenly want your mom or daddy. This washes over me as I realize it's not my Pa I'm wanting, but someone to hold me, lead me. An owner, I guess? Was that what ponies were meant to feel?

The pieces all come together to make me look like one of those fancy sex-dungeon type of girls, tail locked between a buckle and mane brushed back in thick, black locks. Silk ropes bind my chest and stomach, but it breathes well. All of it. Without trying, a deep snort releases from my nostrils, and I bite the air with a clap. Why would I do that? Why am I feeling like this?

At the end I've saved what I think is the hardest sell: the bit. Looking at it the way folks do is just...odd. A piece of metal hangs like a bar surrounded by more fake leather. The structure's more like a cap for my entire head, and at the top sits one tall feather like I'm some sort of showgirl. Keeping with the flair, a pair of blinders hang out like paws. Putting it on's tough at first, but the ensemble just slides right over, and again, my jaw bites down, taking the bit whole in, and I don't even have to stress.

I reach back to tie the thing, already having forgotten about the spook I head earlier, to find that the set's already been tied on. What?

The weight hits me at once, and I choke, falling to all fours as my knees pop with a sigh. All I can do is stare forward, eyes locked by those dumb blinders, and reel in what feels like someone pulling me by the hair. No, not hair. Reins. Something's got me good and tight, but all I get out of me are feral whinnies and snorts. Where's my voice, and why can't I speak?

My hooves strike the ground in both anger and fear. The control over them I've always had is now gone, and instead of two hands tipped with fine and polished hooflets are two massive hooves taking away all use and need.

"Easy, girl," someone says. I wanna say I know that voice, but a dull haze begins to consume me. Thinking's...hard. Not so much in what to do, but everything is...slower? It takes effort to get me to do anything that isn't simple like bite or tug. "You're all right."

I swing my head around to find my mysterious mate standing up over me with my reins in paw. He's a wolf, eyes gold and fur black. His teeth shine in the light like daggers in dark kitchen. I scream a whinny only to have him pull the bit into gagging me. I can't control my body; I've lost all sense of me.

"I know. It's scary. You just keep quiet and let me check on all your bits." His paws stroke my back and shoulders as he feels over the loops and ties. I snort when he graces his claws through my hair. Everything's telling me to kick him off and run.

But I can't. I'm down on the floor, knees and legs close and back held proper. My hooves hang against me in a sort-of giddy-up pose. The spunk once in me's nothing more than fear, now.

"Like it? Everyone says they'd give anything to see the other side. To live wild. To see what it's like having total subservience. Dogs are easy. They listen, bend over, and they always like to please. Now, horses? Shit's hard, pretty thing." The wolf leans his muzzle against my right cheek, and he breathes on me. My body fights against him, but the straps and rope tighten. I'm choking, before I give in to relax. They fall slack against me once I'm calm and pretty. "Don't worry. You won't be like this for long. It's just a start, but I'm sure you'll grow into it. Every devil's got to have his nightmare, right?"

The words trickle over me the more I listen, and soon, I find myself growing weak. Everything's turning dark as I find myself frothing at the mouth. Has he drugged me, too? I only wanted to try and feel dirty, but I guess that brought him with me. None of it makes sense, that being the last thought as my eyes grow dark and his paws get close on my side. "Just sleep, pretty thing. I'll see you on the other side."

#

I scream myself silly the minute I wake up. Sitting in bed, sheets soaked, I feel my face to wipe away the foam that's built on me all night.

What the hell was that?

My knees tremble as I slide myself to stand. Everything feels itchy. Bugs crawling all under my skin and flesh, messing me into pulling my mane just to make sure it ain't real. No. I'm awake, now. All of that was some sick sort of dream, sideways short of hell.

Then why was I smiling? With fingers slow, I touch my jaws to feel the curve of lips forming to make one hell of a stupid grin. I then reach down to feel me, and I'm wet. It ain't sweat in those sheets, no. It's spunk, and I'd soaked the entire mattress in it.

I stand, knees wobbling to keep me from falling on down. It's just six feet from the floor if I can't hold myself from tumbling. I step around to get the gummy feeling in my hooves from stepping through the floor. Then I've got it, and first thing's first.

The stairs get me going as I hold myself on the rail. The entire place is tipping and dipping all drunk and such. My tongue hangs forward as I keep on breathing through my mouth. No wonder my throat's sore, I imagine.

Like last night, the pony stuff rests on the floor right where I'd left it. I hadn't even got it on, I reckon, before everything went bonanza on me. And the urge. Staring down in a mix of fear, something tells me to put it all on. Was it a dream? Had I really been held by the devil himself, using me like some toy meant to make me wild, or had I just imagined it all, needing to touch the stuff just to see what happens?

You'd be crazy to think I threw that mess on. Instead, I grab some boxes to prove things right. The stuff fits perfectly inside the closet with all my clothes. Looking down, I can see the glint of polish on that silver bit bar. It shines the same sheen that drew me in when I'd first bought it--and wore it, I guess. No, it had to be a dream. I close the door, something pulling for me to keep it all open.

Next thing is, I start on breakfast and get myself fitted for work. It's hot, too hot, outside. But that makes the work go fast, I know. It also helps keep me drinking, something Mom always said that kept a filly slim and smiling.

I only beg myself not to try that gear again. Maybe somethings are best left tied up in boxes.