Life on the Farm
Written by Choice Cuts Deli
Commission for Jamie KaBoom | January 2021 | 6169 Words

There was nothing quite like waking up to the crow of the rooster just before the sun began to peek over the horizon. It was the perfect way to begin a day of hard work on the homestead. Unfortunately, that was not how today would go for Reinhardt. The recorded sound of a cock blaring away was underscored with the gentle buzz of vibration whirring his phone closer and closer to the edge of the bedroom end table. As it teetered on the verge of falling to the floor, a brown, leathery paw jutted out from underneath the bedsheets, groping around until it found the snooze button for the eighth time this morning. But instead of sliding back under the sheets, the paw’s owner decided it best to emerge from the warmth of his covers.

“Ugh, okay, okay, I’m up,” the broad-beaked hippogriff chirped to nobody in particular, blinking his golden eyes as he sat up in bed, giving his white feathered wings a chance to fluff out after a night cooped up under the blankets. Resting his beak in his paw, and careful not to scrape the headboard with his antlers, Reinhardt reluctantly swung his latte-brown horse-half out of bed. Furrowing his brow as he stood, the towering, middle-aged hybrid gave a dour look to his phone, displeased he let himself sleep in so long. Giving one last stretch before he bid farewell to the comfort of his bed, Reinhardt sighed as he threw on a set of coveralls and a short sleeved, front-buttoned shirt, before heading downstairs through the quaint, if oversized, farmhouse.

It wasn’t all bad, of course. Before he even hit the bottom of the staircase, a rich and savory scent caught the hippogriff’s nose, bringing a warm smile to his face. “Morning, sleepy head,” a cheerful voice coaxed from the kitchen, underscored by the sounds of cooking breakfast. Stepping past the threshold to the kitchen, he was happy to see that his wife was more mobile than he was this morning.

“Morning, hun,” Reinhardt said with a smile, stepping past the kitchen table to drape his arms around the reddish-brown furred kangaroo working her magic at the stove. “How are you feeling today, Ana?” he asked with a smirk, knowing exactly what her response would be.

“Better than you, obviously,” she replied, nuzzling her head against the hippogriff’s downy coat, before breaking away just long enough to flip the sizzling bacon she was frying upon a flatiron griddle. “You shouldn’t stay up quite so late, dear.”

The comment was not lost on Reinhardt. “Heh, I’m only half to blame for the late night. You certainly had a role to play in that too,” he added, licking his chops as he allowed his clawed pawtips to rub down Ana’s sides, ending with a lingering grope to her heavy hips.

“Mmm,” she huffed softly, using her thick tail as a counterbalance to sit back into his firm grip. “Maybe we should do it again tonight? Increase our chances and all?” Winking over her shoulder, Ana planted a soft kiss on her husband’s beak before changing the subject abruptly. “For now, breakfast. I’ve got bacon on. I could do eggs. And I’ve still got some pancake mix from yesterday if you’d like?”

“Neither, please, hun,” the hippogriff replied, plucking the spatula from his wife’s paw and carefully lifting the half pound of thick-cut bacon slices from the griddle. “I’m late today,” he added, placing the half slab’s worth on a paper towel, and wrapping them in his paw. “This’ll do fine for me till lunch.”

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“I had a feeling you’d say that,” Ana chuckled, claiming her spatula back and threatening to giving her hard-working farmer a swat on the rump. “Go on. If you need more I’ll have some leftovers. Otherwise, I’ll see you around noon, dear?”

“It’s a date!” Reinhardt proclaimed, blowing a kiss softly to his sweetheart before pulling out a slice of bacon to much on.

“And do let Buck and Penny know you’re not dead,” Ana called afterwards as the screen door swung shut behind him. “I had to tell them not to throw rocks at your window this morning,” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head softly.

The bright mid-morning sun cast its long rays over the family homestead, a large-scale ranch complex built with sweat and tears on a quiet plot of land in the countryside. The beautiful, classic farm-style barns and homestead betrayed the heavy work that went into creating Reinhardt’s life dream, though if you looked close enough you could see hints of it. An access panel here, or some exposed piping there. Behind the façade of simple farm life, the hippogriff poured his savings and know-how into creating a state-of-the-art, rural-futurist homestead. Of course, there were reasons why he needed such powerful technology. After all, he was not simply ranching mindless cattle.

“Mister Reinhardt!” A chittering squeak from across the farm caught the hippogriff’s attention. The Reinhardt knew well enough to stand his ground, crossing his arms as he heard the sound of rushing paw-steps beating down the dirt path. It was critical that he not try and get out of their way; it would not be the first time the pair bowled him over on accident. Waiting for the dust to settle so he could finish his last slice of bacon, Reinhardt shook his head softly at the fraternal squirrel twins that came to a stop a few feet away, and now had to catch their breath after running at full sprint. “We thought- We thought you were sick!” the male squirrel huffed. Dressed in a simple set of coveralls and a white cotton tee, the little rodent had fully tuckered himself out running, having to rest against a nearby wooden fencepost.

“You thought he was sick,” the female squirrel chided with a clack of her teeth. The fitter of the two, she planted both paws on her hips with a look of consternation plastered on her face, her long sleeve plaid shirt tied about the waist of her work jeans. “I bet he was just sleeping in.”

“Gambling again, huh, you two?” Reinhardt asked, bringing the bickering to a sudden halt, and two sheepish looks upon the sweet young farmhands. “Well, it looks like Penny won this round.”

“I told you!” she added with a triumphant squeak, her bushy tail practically vibrating at her victory. “Looks like you’re shoveling hay all next week, Bucky-boy!”

“Heh, come on now,” Reinhardt hiked his beak over his shoulder as he resumed his walk down the path. “You can celebrate your victory later. We’ve got a lot of work today. What did you both get done this morning while I was out, Buck?”

“Let’s see,” the male squirrel said, fidgeting with the comfortably-fit metal collar around his neck, the brass padlock stamped with the ranch’s emblem. “Started off checking the fuel and steam levels. Got the water pumps running. Checked the stocks on the fertility hormones and- Oh yeah! We got that new milk cow delivered today.”

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“I signed for it,” Penny added proudly, only to shrink at Reinhardt’s stern look. “A- After a full medical exam?”

“You two are always a handful,” the farmer added with a defeated chuckle.

“You’d never sell us, Mister Reinhardt,” Buck declared with only a hint of nervousness.

“No, I suppose not. It’d take me years to train a new set of slaves who know the ins-and-outs of this place,” Reinhardt said, ruffling Buck’s puffy headfur before giving the boy a playful boot with a hoof. “Alright then. The new cow’s still drugged out then, I hope?”

“Should be for an hour or two,” Penny replied.

“Good. I’m going to check on the hen house. You two take care of the beehive, and I’ll meet you over at the dairy barn?”

“You got it, Boss!” Buck chirped, accompanied by Penny giving a faux-salute. In the blink of an eye, the precocious pair were off, bantering back and forth as they headed towards the apiary, leaving Reinhardt alone at the edge of a rather large barn complex.

Turning the key on the locked corrugated steel building, Reinhardt pushed open the door, a broad grin on his face as he stepped through to the henhouse floor. “Ladies,” he called, as he always did, “I’m sorry I’m late today.” His hooved feet clacking on the iron grate that lined the walkway floor, the hippogriff stepped down the single row of individual stalls, casually rapping his fingers on the oversized metal frames where several anthro creatures sat bound and squatting over a large, cushioned collection bin.

Reinhardt’s business was not just built upon his own sweat and tears, but also that of so many living, breathing slaves he had purchased to make it happen. Some, like the trustworthy Buck and Penny were volunteers, and their eager demeanor showed. Of course, not all slaves were pleased with their lot in life. Despite slavery being legal in the realm, the mechanisms for enforcement were quite lax, making it possible to fake a registration. For most of the egg-laying girls in the hen house, Reinhardt’s daily entry was a reminder of their absolute subjugation. But that was not the case for Abigail.

“Good morning, Sir,” the blue-scaled iridescent dragoness replied, turning her head away as the hippogriff approached her stall. Unlike the others, Abby was not locked down to her metal frame, though a set of humblers were installed permanently on her lower limbs, forcing her to strut with a decidedly chicken-like gait whenever she left her perch.

“Good morning, my Mother Hen,” Reinhardt added, reaching out to give the dragoness a fondle along her tender breast meat, rubbing the sensitive flesh before dipping his paw down between her ample thighs and drumsticks. The angle needed to grab for her eggs down in the collection bin forced Reinhardt to press his snout up against Abby’s breasts, the daily humiliation causing the dragoness to puff up in disapproval. “How’s the roundup this morning. Got any gossip for me?”

“Mmmpfh, off, off,” she grunted, faux pecking at Reinhardt with her muzzle just to make his job more complicated. Of course, it was all in good fun; with two fresh eggs in his paw, Reinhardt make a point of rubbing the back of his paw along the dragoness’s slit, the folds already drippy moist from how much she enjoyed her treatment. “Huff… the girls are all doing well,” she added, preening herself softly.

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“Jessie over there had a tough one but laid as expected,” she said, nosing over towards an anthro-sized snake whose body lay curled in what looked to be a compression jacket that strapped to the floor of her cage, the wily little thing clearly had a penchant for wriggling out of her confines. “Trish was squawking all morning that she had a whole clutch to drop, but only two came out?” Abby smiled as she pushed her fellow hen, a monitor lizard under the bus. She was always so jealous of the girl’s gorgeous pink eggs; they shimmered in a metallic tint under the right light, an exceedingly rare hue. This unique fixture afforded Trish with extra accommodations, including more padding to protect herself and her eggs.

“Is that so?” Reinhardt chuckled, stepping past a quietly sleeping sparrow nesting in her cage and over to Trish’s pen. A broad grin crossed his face as he retrieved the two gorgeous eggs from between her legs. “Guess I’ll have to come back later for the rest,” he added, before a sudden pained snort turned his attention to the elephant in the room – or perhaps that should be dinosaur.

Reinhardt always felt a little nervous collecting the last eggs, because they belonged to a towering Tyrannosaurus Rex. The beastly creature had her own special pen, her towering ten-and-a-half-foot frame easily soaring over Reinhardt’s dominant presence. As such, she was perhaps the most dangerous of all the farm’s livestock. It took far too much effort to get her into the hen house and restrained, with thick leather and iron straps banded across her body and limbs to ensure she remained in place. Yet even these heavy encasements were a tenuous solution. Reinhardt could see the way she clenched and relaxed her clawed paws every time he walked in, those razor-sharp talons and teeth exactly the sort that could kill him if she should ever get free. But this time, her voice seemed off, a bit pained in her bellowing.

“What’s wrong, girl?” Reinhardt hushed, stepping closer with a light hoof, making sure he kept his eyes on her limbs and jaws as he did. Once he neared the restraints, however, he quickly figured out the problem. “Oh. Oh Daisy,” he huffed, talon-tipped paw reaching down to slowly rub along the dinosaur’s vent. “Your egg is bound, isn’t it?” If Daisy could nod, she would have, the look in her eyes far less rage-filled than usual as she gave a soft bear down upon the egg. “Easy, girl.” Reaching both his taloned paws down between her thighs, Reinhardt began to rub along the dinosaur’s slit, slowly stroking as he pushed and manipulated the egg. It would take a little effort to get the oval obstruction to turn longways inside her oviduct. The invasive, and somewhat painful, process caused Daisy to growl and rumble, her body straining heavily against her cinched tight bonds. But soon, she felt her egg passage ease off its furious clenching. With a few hot breaths, she managed to slowly pop the egg free right into Reinhardt’s fluid-slick paws. “Theeeeere we go… good girl… my good little egg slut,” he added, the words meant to twist the knife just a bit after having provided his most dangerous girl a bit of comfort and care. Daisy seemed to let out a sigh of relief, the dinosaur rolling her eyes as she let the comment slide, just as the remainder of her backed-up eggs began to descend.

“Well, Abby,” Reinhardt chirped at last, wiping his slick paws on his coveralls as he piled the eggs up into a bucket. “Give me a crow if you girls need anything. I’m off to the milking shed… well, after I make sure Buck and Penny did what I told them to do.” A last wave to the hens, and Reinhardt was off once more, stopping momentarily to drop off the fresh eggs before heading to the beehive.

Of course, beehive was a loose term for the building that contained nectar-producing anthros. Unlike the other parts of the farm, this building seemed less a traditional apiary and more akin to an industrial farm building. But considering the insects were not allowed to fly in and out in order to produce their honey, there was no need to build the hive to quite the same specifications. As he

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stepped inside, the soft hum of winged animals buzzing infrequently, Reinhardt could already tell that Buck and Penny had been here, a veritable Pollack painting of sticky pawprints left on the door handles and machinery. “I’ve gotta give those two a refresher on how to use these things,” Reinhardt sighed, shaking his head as he stepped into the heart of the hive, where his newest girls were being held.

This enterprise, expanding into nectar production, was still getting off the ground. He only had four insects to harvest. Two beautiful anthro honeybees, their heavy breasts augmented to drip sweet nectars, a soft and fluffy moth who remained heavily restrained in a stress position with her arms bound behind her back, and a slender mantis girl, a volunteer slave who jumped at the opportunity to become a farm animal for her own pleasure. It did not take long to inspect the lot of them, and he was happy to find that Buck and Penny had done their job well. Their feeding tubes were in place, their hormone IVs were filled and their suckers were carefully attatched to each teat, or in the case of the mantis, attached to the cannula in her abdomen to help drain the buildup of sweet nectar.

Despite the mess, Reinhardt had little to complain about Buck and Penny's work; that is until he turned to leave. As he passed the white-furred moth, something just seemed off about her complexion. Cocking his head softly, the hippogriff contemplated the fact her fur seemed even whiter than normal, no redness or purpling that usually underscored her beautiful pelt. A slow smirk crossed Reinhardt's face as he stepped close to the fluffy insect, casually unscrewing her collection basin. "My dear," he began, dipping two fingers into the nectar that filled the metal collection tub. "Were you given your stripes this morning?" Reinhardt asked, slipping both fingers into his muzzle, suckling the rich honey off them.

"Mmmpfh…" the gagged beauty shuddered, shaking her head softly, her affirmation confirming what he could taste in her production.

"You know that you’re a masochist, dear. It makes your nectar sweeter," Reinhardt chided, chuckling as he licked clean his talons. The bound and whimpering girl knew exactly what was coming as her owner slipped a thin metal wand off his belt. Clicking a thumb latch, the baton extended out to a sizeable fifteen inches, offering Reinhardt the ability to reach out and touch any part of his victim’s body. “So, sweetheart, breasts or thighs?”

After a moment, the shivering moth slowly nodded her head down, nervously staring at her ample breasts. It was the decision he needed, the fluffy insect bracing herself for what would come next. Situating himself next to the moth’s restraint frame, he gave a gentle tap along her meaty breasts, using the metal rod to caress and tease his helpless victim. In a flash, he raised the metal baton, bringing it back down hard upon her chest with a firm strike, causing the gagged moth to cry out in sudden shock. Writhing in her restraints, the moth moaned as each strike left a bright welt upon her body, not enough to break skin, but certainly enough to add a hot pink hue underneath her gorgeous silky coat. After eight or nine strikes, the moth’s moans took on a beautiful, warbling pitch, muffled by the gag’s tight fit. After the thirtieth, she lay exhausted against her restraints, her body slung down by the arms and legs as her exhausted muscles quivered and jerked. Giving a gentle caress over the moth’s reddened breasts, Reinhardt was pleased to see even the gentlest touch caused the girl to moan in overstimulated bliss.

“Good girl,” the hippogriff huffed, wiping the sweat he worked up off his brow before clicking the baton back to its enclosed state with a gentle ‘snikt.’ “That felt good?” Something between a shudder and a nod came from the girl’s limp-hanging form, bringing a broad grin to the farmer’s beak. “Good. I’ll come back this evening to work over that abdomen of yours. Buck and Penny really dropped

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the ball on this one,” he mused aloud, making sure the moth’s milking equipment was still firmly attached to her teats before stepping out of the beehive. “Two down, one to go,” he mused to nobody in particular, a paw reaching down to rub his growling stomach. “Ugh, I hope the new milker’s going to be cooperative… Not in the mood for a fight after skipping breakfast today.”

A short walk down the dusty path, with only a quick stop at the water spigot to wash off the sticky nectar he got all over his talons, brought Reinhardt to the dairy barn. If ever there was a place where modern machinery met rustic charm, it was here on the old, red-painted wooden building.

Sections had been cut in the side to help accommodate large metal equipment and storage hoppers, each intake valve labeled with little black metal plaques to ensure there were no mix-ups upon delivery. Stepping inside the hay-scented building, the hippogriff was met with a beautiful sight as the long rows of milk-laden slaves were in the process of having their daily quota pumped from their overactive mammaries.

Hooves clacking on the iron grate catwalk that lined the rows of ‘cow’ stalls, Reinhardt seemed to revel in the sound of gentle moans and constant low pumping. It was almost erotic to the middle-aged rancher, his coveralls tightening softly as he gave a pat to the first of the fairy herd. To his right was the oldest slave he owned, a real bovine who was pushing close to seventy years old. After making sure she got a gentle pat upon the head, her body locked forwards in a perpetual incline upon the padded milking rack, Reinhardt playfully tapped the collection container next to her. “Doing good, Bessie,” he crooned, chuckling, “We might not be having burgers for the summer barbecue after all.” The comment was, of course, good natured; Bessie had long since earned a happy retirement, meaning she never had to meet dairy quotas. That was not the case, of course, for the rest of the girls in the barn.

Stepping past three red panda triplets, Reinhardt paused momentarily to examine the last one in the row, giving her sisters only a cursory glance to make sure they were appropriately hooked up to both their IV lines, their feeding tubes, and their milking machines. They were but another piece of machinery to create a sellable product for Reinhardt. The third panda sister, of course, was preparing to produce in a very different sense. Originally bought for their breast sizes, Reinhardt did not see much use in them as breeders. Yet, the hippogriff was taken aback at how virile this particular one was; surprising that her good fortune, or misfortune, did not carry over quite the same way to her sisters. She was nearly seven months in to her third pregnancy, and it certainly showed on her gut. Slipping a stethoscope off a cart of tools, the farmer took a moment to examine the litter through the gagged girl’s womb as they fluttered and kicked inside her.

“Lovely,” Reinhardt smiled, giving a soft pat on her breast as he looked over the computerized IV system just off to her side. “What’d we say, a litter of four?” She did not respond, of course, perhaps less than pleased to be used as a breeding mother. “Hmm, your blood tests also came back about right,” he added, chuckling as he gave an idle tap to the computer. “In about a week we’ll bring back up the lactation hormones. We want you producing plenty just before the little ones come so they can feed on momma’s milk.” Coldly, Reinhardt set aside the stethoscope, already half walking away as he added, “Just like the last two times, I’m sure you remember.”

Passing by a short-shorn sheep girl, two squirmy, brown-furred bunnies, and a pair of wolves bound facing one another (clearly a mother and her daughter), Reinhardt found himself towards the back of the old barn with the ‘delinquents.’ To his right, a lioness stood in heavy iron straps, reminiscent of a tight gibbet that one would hang a condemned man’s body in. While not welded shut, the iron

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straps were each padlocked on, tight enough to ensure that the lioness inside could never move a muscle from the standing position she was locked in. The thick iron bands were only broken up by heavy scars and welts that striped her body at odd angles. She was a criminal, bought for cheap off the penal system. And her sentence of hard labor and abuse was practically written into her flesh. It took years to get her producing milk properly after the overwhelming stress she endured. But Reinhardt believed in the old girl’s perseverance. Even if he was the one doing all the work, adjusting her hormone levels and coaxing her milk production.

“How’s it going, Vera?” Reinhardt chirped, slapping the side of her cage and sending the lioness swaying, the milking machine strapped to her chest tugging as it hit its limit with each swing, causing the girl to moan and grit her teeth. “Just hanging around?” Reinhardt added with a chuckle, turning his gaze across the rows of stalls to lock eyes with a defeated looking bat girl, her body straight-jacketed upon its milking rack. The grey furred girl seemed to be avoiding eye contact with the hippogriff, her green-haired faux-hawk squarely in his view. “And you, Sheena.” Stepping forwards towards the girl, he carefully rubbed a taloned paw up against her chin, coaxing her to look him in the eyes. “Are you still feeling a little ashamed you got caught trying to wriggle out of your restraints?” The guilty look in her eyes only seemed to confirm his question. “Awww, I know it’s not recommended to keep convicts like yourself in close proximity. But I’ve got my metalsmith working on a new gibbet cage that’ll be just barely big enough to fit the both of you, back-to-back. Plenty of time to get to know each other, and I can free up your stall for someone who’ll behave.”

Giving the impudent punk bat a pat upon the cheek, Reinhardt was caught off guard by the sound of a commotion just outside the rear of the barn. As he approached the back door to the large barn complex, the loading and service pens surrounded by high fencing, he could hear the distinct voices of Buck and Penny, accompanied by gentle neighing from one of his most trusted volunteer slaves. Peeking out the back door, the hippogriff got a clear view of his two squirrels wrangling with a terrified young goat, the latest kidnapping victim his farm had ‘purchased’ for the dairy shed. Previously rendered senseless on heavy anesthetics, it appeared that by now they had worn off, the girl clearly giving his farmhands far more trouble than expected.

The din caused by Buck and Penny’s attempts to both wrangle and calm the capricious caprine had brought the dairy barn’s milkmaid running to help. A sweet, if buxom, chestnut mare was one of Reinhardt's most loyal dairy slaves, a volunteer from nearly the start. She still needed to produce a daily quota, but much like Abigail in the hen house, she was afforded free reign over much of the milking shed. Due to this tacit agreement, she often acted as the milkmaid when Buck and Penny were not around, and had a lovely knack for helping to calm, even seduce, the other cows in the barn into accepting their lot in life. But despite her mellow, honeyed words about how nice life on the farm would be for her, the frightened goat was not calming down.

It happened in a flash, a quick smack of her hoof into Buck's shin caused the squirrel boy to crumple to the ground. Without her brother's help, the lithe, grey-furred goat managed to wrench clean from Penny's grip, barreling headlong through the sweet mare in a bid for freedom. But when you are deep in the heart of captivity, spur of the moment escape plans don't often go so well. The goat stumbled and trotted blindly towards the only exit she could see, straight through the dairy barn, her panicked voice crying, "No! Let me go! I want to go home!" She did not even realize that the towering eight-foot-tall hippogriff was waiting to ambush her just inside the door.

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The frantic goat hardly made it past the threshold when a taloned paw shot out in front of her. Running as fast as her legs would carry her, the little goat felt her throat connect with Reinhardt's forearm. In a flash, she was laid upon her back, choking and sputtering as a heavy, hooved foot planted firm on her chest. "None of that now, girl. You had a chance to do things the easy way." Turning his attention to his bewildered ranch hands, Reinhardt asked, "You need a minute, Buck? She's going nowhere."

"N- No I'm alright, Boss," the squirrel answered back, his sister already helping him back to his feet. "Rrrf… sharp hooves on that one."

"C'mon, help me get her to stall number three," he added, a warm smirk crawling across his face as he added, "I'm gonna have fun breaking this one." It took some collective effort, the three manhandling the struggling, whimpering goat while the chestnut mare followed behind, fretting the whole way. But despite her panic, they were able to heft her up into the restraint frame with little effort, carefully locking her in. First her wrists and forearms were shackled to the two front posts of the milking rack. Her legs were grabbed by the ankle, forcing her to tense her belly as Reinhardt, Buck and Penny settled both her shins upon the cold metal piping. “I hope you savored the floor while you could,” the hippogriff chuckled, tightening the thick leather straps just below the knee and above the ankle, locking her into a forward-tilted position that left her cute B-cup breasts exposed. “You’re not going to be let down for a long, long time, girl.”

“P- Please…” the little goat managed to sob through her broken tears, turning her horned head back towards Reinhardt in time to watch him slip the straps of his coveralls off his shoulders. “Please, I didn’t… I was framed, please!”

“Shhhh, it’s alright, girl,” the hippogriff hushed as Penny wheeled a medical tray over to her boss, the metal dish containing a concerning number of tools and sex toys. “You don’t have to worry about any of that anymore. Your paperwork went through, which makes you my property.” Selecting a thick rubber bit gag from the tray, Reinhardt calmly put an end to her pleas, ensuring the gag was strapped behind her head before attaching a set of reins to either side which let him hitch her to the front of the milking rack. “No more whining. You’ve got a job to do, girl.”

The whimpering goat shook her head as much as she could, only to seize up as she felt a pain shoot through her arm followed by a gentle coldness that ran up to her shoulder. Reinhardt might not have been a veterinarian, but he knew how to safely start an IV on a girl, his practiced paws carefully depressing the plunger until he’d fully flushed the thick-bore line. All it took was a quick click, and the cold feeling was replaced by a strange warming rush; with the line hooked up to the central hormone tanks, Reinhardt was able to dial in the amount he wanted the mewling girl to get, a flood of nutrients and enzymes already overruling her body’s natural homeostasis.

“There we go. In a few months you’ll hardly recognize your body, girl,” the hippogriff added, rubbing down her rump with a gentle, taloned paw. Those breasts of yours will swell to twice their size. And the burn in your loins won’t ever be sated, even after you’ve got a belly full of goats for me.” Those last words brought the captive caprine to a sudden halt as she realized that he was not simply planning to use her as a milk nanny. “These hips of yours are gonna be wide enough we’ll have to upsize your milk rack,” Reinhardt added, the tip of his talon carefully pulling back the little goat’s supple folds, his free paw stuffed down his coveralls as he jerked himself to a full erection.

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“Mnnnpfh!!” She grunted in a panic. “MMM!” They always protested their first fuck. Lining his cockhead up against the sweet goat’s pussy lips, Reinhardt took his time, grinding against the supple flesh to work himself up. Bending at the knees to get a better angle, the hippogriff slowly pushed inside, her clenching struggles unable to stop the ramrod-stiff shaft from forcing her open in one painful thrust. Reinhardt’s towering size was not the only thing that was big about him; he could only fit himself most of the way into the goat’s supple pussy, like most creatures on the farm. His hefty girth spread her sensual tunnel to its limit. But he did not care. A warm wet hole was a warm wet hole, after all. And he had a job to do.

Closing his eyes, the hippogriff snorted through each slow and sensual thrust, planting his weight down upon the girl’s back and rump as he picked up the pace. Jamming himself in deep with each fore stroke, the goat’s cries quickly turned to bleats as her new owner gave her the first of many unprotected fucks she would receive. “Mmmm… fuck, you’re tight, girl. Your kidnappers never used you, huh?” he hissed softly into her ear, beak gently nipping at the supple flesh as he picked up the pace. It was degrading, but not as degrading as the sudden feel of confusing pleasure that erupted on both her b-cup breasts. Opening her eyes, her vision streaked with tears, she could just make out the form of the male squirrel in front of her, casually attaching both milking cups over her nipples. As the suckers began their slow and rhythmic assault on her tits, a wave of hot forced pleasure washed over her body. Assaulted from both sides, she could no longer ignore that her lust was being manipulated, forced to blossom inside her loins despite her desperate pleas to the contrary.

It must have felt like it lasted forever for the sweet, kidnapped goat. But in reality, it only took a few minutes. Reinhardt’s insistent thrusts into the girl’s hard-clenched pussy brought the exhausted hippogriff’s arousal right up to the edge, a deep moan hissing out his nares as he tried to hold back just a thrust or two more. The defeated goat shuddered, her body giving in as an orgasm bloomed inside her. The flush of warm, spurting fluids, along with the tightest clench she could muster, served to milk Reinhardt out at last, a half-whinny escaping his beak as his seed spurted deep inside the girl’s broken and abused cunt.

It took a moment for the middle-aged farmer to collect himself, the hippogriff unable to help but nicker softly as the afterglow faded. Slopping back out of her pussy, he quickly replaced his shaft with a thick silicone plug, working the toy up and inside of her body. “That’s a good girl,” he cooed, petting down her head fur softly. “We gotta make sure it sticks, don’t we?”

“Mnnnnn…” was all the little caprine could muster, her broken, exhausted body hanging limp.

Once he was pleased with her introduction to the farm, Reinhardt gave a pleased nod to Buck and Penny. “Thanks for the help there, you two,” he chirped, a smile crossing his pleased face as he pulled up his coveralls. “C’mon, how about we head out for lunch?” As the three exited the barn, giving the chestnut mare an opportunity to finish the introductions and welcome to the dairy herd, Reinhardt gave his ranch hands a playful slap on the back. But moments later, his demeanor soured as a thought returned to his already hunger-tinted mind. “There’s one little thing that’s bothering me. You both did fine on most of your work today,” Reinhardt added, watching the twin squirrel tails droop in anticipation. “But you both forgot to flog the moth.”

“That was all Penny,” Buck chittered out in a nervous blurt, causing Penny to come to a stop on the dusty road back to the homestead.

10

“Hey! N- No!” She spat, her cheek twitching softly. “I was setting up the pump for the mantis! You were supposed to beat the moth.”

“No way!” It was now Buck’s turn to stop in the middle of the road, Reinhardt’s frustration growing, especially since he could smell lunch wafting on the breeze. “We agreed, we’d each take one bee,” Buck chittered, emphatically waving his paws. “But you got busy working on the mantis and told me to get your bee! You’re on the hook for the-”

“Okay, okay!” Reinhardt finally snapped with a clack of his beak, causing his ranch hand slaves to stop mid-argument. “I don’t care whose job it was. I asked you both to take care of the beehive. All of them.” Perking his ear, the hippogriff could hear his wife calling them in, the promise of lemonade and a full meal giving his frustration pause. “Be more thorough next time, alright?” Turning on his hooves, Reinhardt added, “If you do that again, I’m going to put a litter in both of you as punishment.”

Sheepishly, the pair followed up on Reinhardt’s heels. But Buck, being himself, couldn’t let well enough alone. “Uh, Boss? But um, I’m a guy, so…”

Hiking his beak back over his shoulder, the hippogriff smirked as he added, “I don’t care if you don’t have a womb. I’ll try again every day the test comes back negative, for at least six months.”