Animal Husbandry

by Standard Namespace

Rating: mature
Tags: Alternate Universe, Romance, Sex, Human, Twilight Sparkle, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 7193

Delicious and creamy Sparkle milk is made with love...

A human farmer faces the challenges and joys of running a dairy farm with twelve Twilight Sparkles.

Now 20% cloppier!

Published 2012-03-09 19:14:01 UTC
Last updated 2012-03-12 23:39:01 UTC

Animal Husbandry

It was morning on the farm. The sun wouldn't be up for another few hours.

The farmer sat in his kitchen, drank black coffee and ate buttered toast.

He cut a tiny dab of light purple butter from the stick and let it melt a little onto the warm bread. Once it was soft enough, he spread it on his lightly toasted slice and took a bite.

It was delicious and creamy with a subtle hint of a sweet, round flavor. He and the girls had made it.

He looked at the clock. He needed to get a move on. “The clock is ticking!” That's what they'd say.

The girls didn't like it when he was tardy for the morning rounds. He grabbed a thermos of coffee and made his way to the stables flanking the large paddock.

It didn’t smell like horses in the stall. The anteroom was clean and dust-free. On one wall, brushes, combs, picks, and bridles hung from pegs on the wall, neatly ordered and clearly labeled. On the other wall, a bookcase filled with a wide variety of fiction and non-fiction books were ordered by subject, author, and title. A separate shelf held books out on loan from nearby libraries, sorted by lending institution and date of check-out. Bright strips of paper tucked between the pages marked the books that were due to be returned.

On top of the bookshelf, a small wireless router provided the girls with access to the Internet. He took out his smartphone and ran a quick connectivity check. The girls got irritated when their net access didn’t work.

Number Six was first on schedule today. She had gone and picked up the morning paper, which levitated in front of her as he fetched his stool and the bucket.

He poured her a cup of coffee and she smiled and nodded as she levitated it over and took a careful sip.

“Mmm. Thanks.” She turned back to a long article in the finance section.

He carefully reached for her lower belly, checking her teats for signs of injury or infection. Usually the girls would tell him if something was bothering them, but procedure was procedure.

Her breasts were warm and full. He saw the faintest trace of a smile on her face as he cupped them.

A Sparkle's nipples were small and delicate like a human woman's, and needed a gentle touch. He began massaging her teats to get the milk flowing, then curved his fingers around her soft purple mounds and gently squeezed and relaxed each finger in turn as he slid his thumb down to the sensitive pink tips of her softly rounded conical teats. Only the gentlest squeeze was needed to send warm jets of bubbling creamy purple-tinted fluid into the immaculately clean bucket.

Number Six swished her deep purple and magenta tail from side to side as the farmer continued his work. She took another sip of coffee and flipped to the next page of the newspaper.

“The increase in interest rates is going to make obtaining credit for further expansions difficult. Fortunately, I think our cash flow is adequate for the time being, assuming a recession doesn't soften demand for luxury goods... Mmm...”

The farmer and Number Six exchanged a quick look, and Number Six nodded. The farmer returned to milking, and Number Six buried her little nose in a column of numbers describing the recent activity of the stock market, her large violet eyes dancing over the broadsheet page. She had wanted to take up day trading, and the farmer thought it was a good idea.

He finished with a half-full bucket of Sparkle-milk, which he showed to Number Six. Number Six smiled. “Wow, I was really full today. No wonder I was tender. Thanks.”

Number Six blew the farmer a kiss as he proceeded to Number Five's paddock.

Number Five had just recovered from an infection, and was still a little sore and grumpy. The farmer checked her carefully, but there was no sign of inflammation. He and Number Five exchanged a quick nod, and Number Five turned her attention to her floating Kindle as he set to work.

She was scowling a little, but not wincing or showing any sign of pain or discomfort. The farmer decided against trying to strike up a conversation.

The manual was a huge help running a Sparkle dairy. Detailed procedures were described to keep the Sparkles happy and contented, to see to their mental, emotional, and physical well-being. Consistent emphasis was placed on schedule and routine, on offering the Sparkles an orderly, nurturing environment where each received individual attention.

Automated milking machines were right out of the question. Sparkles needed the personal touch, even if they weren't always outgoing and gregarious.

Number Five pressed the page turn button of her Kindle. The farmer remembered how the girls had scuffled over the device when it first arrived. The promise to order more of them and arranging a borrowing schedule restored peace to the farm.

The farmer finished Number Five. She looked him in the eyes, smiled sweetly, and gave him a quick kiss behind his left ear, before returning to her novel.

The girls were unusually productive this morning. It got like that when one of them was close to her time. The interactions between the Sparkles' remarkable minds and their hormones were complex. The farmer was glad he had the manual to help him figure out what the girls needed.

Number Four was tender, almost painfully full, and excited. She seemed eager to be emptied, but the farmer didn't let her rush him. Procedure was procedure.

“I just wish Three wasn't so shy about it. The manual's right, letting the others watch increases yield. Mmmm... oh yes, that feels good... your hands are so nice and warm... have you been using that balm I recommended? It should help prevent calluses... Number Eight's a riot to watch, she's a real screamer...”

The farmer mentally noted Number Four's blushing, gushing, sexual preoccupation, and subtle tail lifts. She may have been unusually productive today, but she would soon enter the next phase of her cycle.

Number Four looked proudly at her daily yield, scrunched her face, and gave the farmer a long nuzzle. She giggled and stuck out her tongue as he closed her stall.

Number Three wasn't to be milked today. She was getting close to her time.

It was always difficult for the girls when they weren't lactating. Each Sparkle wanted to be their very best, all the time, and often had unrealistic expectations of their abilities.

Number Three was nervous, but happy to see the farmer. Her eyes twinkled under her bangs and she blushed as he entered her stall.

“Do you really have to take my temperature? I'm pretty sure I'm ready.”

Getting the correct timing was vital in ensuring the procedure worked, making sure the Sparkles were happy and productive. The girls knew this, and the farmer only had to gently remind Number Three that the routine was important.

Number Three turned around and lifted her tail. “Well, get it over with.”

The farmer retrieved a long thermometer from an antiseptic bath. Number Three's vulva was swollen and excited, but he decided to be on the safe side and smeared the thermometer with a generous amount of lube.

He slid the thin glass rod into Number Three's vagina, and carefully slid it between her walls up to her cervix. Number Three grunted a little.

Measuring cervical temperature was never fun for the girls. The farmer always felt a little sorry for them. He knew it hurt a little, but it was important to get this right.

He checked his stopwatch. After exactly two minutes, he gently pulled the thermometer out and recorded the result on Number Three's chart.

He showed her the results, and she broke out in a broad smile.

“Oh goody. I told you so!”

Number Three may have been shy, but that was because she needed a lot of affection and intimacy. All of the Sparkles were a little different, and the manual constantly reiterated that attention to details like their individual needs was decisive in successfully running a Sparkle dairy.

She pushed the farmer against the wall of the paddock, locking his lips in a lingering kiss, her tongue darting into his mouth. She was warm and eager, but broke off the kiss to whisper in his ear in her sultriest voice, “I'd love to... right now... but you need to look after the others.”

She pressed her soft purple warmth against the farmer, nuzzling his neck.

“Two o'clock. The hut on the north field. Bring roses.” She sealed the date with another eager, overheated kiss. “Don't be late. Now get a move on, take care of the others.”

His heart raced. Even after all this time, all the routine and the procedures and hard work hadn’t changed the way moments like this made him feel. He broke away from her after a last lingering embrace, and felt like he was walking on air as he came to Number Two.

“Three’s ready, then?” Number Two giggled and flipped her laptop closed. “She wants roses again, right? I took the liberty of ordering some for you. They should arrive a little before lunchtime.”

Number Two was gregarious and very full. Her warm purple mounds spurted milk with the lightest of touches. After a few minutes of milking, she craned her neck around and whispered in the farmer’s ear.

“She was telling me out on the pasture that she’s really hot this time. You know how much she likes it when you rub her, that really drives her crazy! Maybe when she’s ready to go, you can lube up your thumb and slowly slide it into her tight little… oh… they don’t hurt, you can squeeze a little harder… hmm…”

She buried her muzzle in the back of his neck and nuzzled him as he finished her. He showed her the bucket, and she blushed and bit her lower lip. “I nearly filled a whole bucket! I don’t know what’s gotten into me!”

The farmer washed his sticky hands in Number Two’s sink as she sashayed over to her breakfast table, wiggling her hips.

Number One was up next. The farmer remembered her running his interview. She was wearing a pair of red reading glasses when they met and had her mane in a neat bun.

“We’re glad you were able to make it. I see you were punctual, and that’s a good start.”

He had applied for the position shortly after the incident, when the herds of ponies had escaped from the laboratory that had created them. It had been an embarrassing scandal, and lead to years of closed-door hearings in the Senate as law-makers grappled with the ethical issues of a new, artificial species of sapient equines.

Left to their own devices, the ponies applied their talents and skills to living on their own as free, thinking beings. One group had bought the farm he was now tending, and had placed advertisements looking for experienced, tolerant, and unmarried dairy farmers.

The questions were probing, and it quickly became clear that they had run a background check on him after he had contacted them. After the medical examination they had subjected him to, it was hardly a surprise. She seemed happy to hear that he was single, and asked a few pointed questions about his attitudes toward sexuality.

Evidently Number One liked what he had told her.

She escorted him into the farmhouse, where another Sparkle, Number Eight, was waiting. He remembered thinking it strange that she was wearing panties that stretched over her pert, round haunches, partially obscuring the starburst marks on her hips.

“In addition to regular feeding, grooming, and medical care, your responsibilities will involve a number of additional duties. At certain periods in our hormone cycles, appropriate stimulation can lead to the ovarian follicle – the corpus luteum – not being reabsorbed, but rather remaining to secrete hormones that cause a state of false pregnancy. Among the side effects of this physiological phenomenon is the development of the mammary glands, and lactation – the production of milk.”

He remembered Number Eight biting her lower lip and blushing. She looked into his eyes from under her bangs, and they exchanged bashful smiles as Number One lectured him.

“Among your responsibilities will be providing regular stimulation within a twelve hour time window after ovulation. We will train you in the necessary medical procedures and protocols to determine the optimal point to provide stimulation. Number Eight here has just ovulated – if you would, please…”

Number Eight turned, and he watched as first her horn and then her panties glowed and slowly slid down her rear legs. She was grinning at him as her tail lifted, revealing her blushing, slightly swollen marehood.

“…as you can see, ovulation corresponds with a significant increase in libido. You will be required to provide intense stimulation, preferably to orgasm, and will be expected to ejaculate a sufficient quantity of semen to trigger the pseudopregnancy.”

Number Eight stuck out her tongue and wiggled her hips, making the future farmer’s pants tighten. She whispered sultrily, “She wants you to cum inside me. Want a pony ride?”

Number One watched his first time. He remembered the way she blushed as she made helpful suggestions and struggled to maintain a clinical facade.

That was then, and this was now. Number One was a still a good source of advice, and she had warmed to him considerably since his awkward yet successful first time with a Sparkle.

“Don’t worry, you’ll do fine.” She reassured him as he finished her up, smiling sweetly. “You’ve gotten good at it, just let her set the pace.”

She examined her morning yield and kissed the farmer on the cheek. “You two promise me you’ll have fun.”

He returned her peck on the cheek. He was looking forward to this.

He opened the paddock gate to let the girls out to graze on the south pasture. Number Three rubbed against him on the way out, and whispered, “Don’t be late.”

The second paddock was a little less cheerful. The girls were worried about Number Eleven. She had pulled the curtains on her stall and the farmer could feel her despondency from the other side of the curtain.

She had been very ill recently, an unpleasant colic caused by a left dorsal displacement of her colon. They had tried to handle it with drugs and massage, but she had needed surgery to correct her intestinal blockage. After he finished with the other girls, he knocked on her stall door.

She opened and peered out. Looking up at the farmer, she beckoned him into her darkened room.

It was obvious she hadn't been brushing her mane. That was often a bad sign. It was hard for the girls when things didn't go according to plan.

“I'm sorry I pushed you into it last month. I should have known – I was still recovering from the operation.”

The farmer knelt down next to Number Eleven and looked her in the eyes. He could see the disappointment and sadness beneath her ragged bangs.

“You know... if I can't produce, I'm just a burden to the farm. There are other things I can do out there, and I want you to know that it isn't your fault. You take good care of us, and we all like it here. But...”

The farmer hugged Number Eleven, who struggled to relax.

“...I don't want to go. You're so nice to me, and I don't want to take advantage of you. I don't know what to do...”

She nuzzled his shoulders and ended up sobbing into his collar.

“I want to do the right thing. I have to...”

He held her for a while, letting her cry into his flannel shirt. Once her sobs had died down, he coaxed her out to the pasture to graze.

It was almost lunchtime, and he had to get ready for his date with Number Three.

After lunch, he showered. Living with the girls had kept him in good shape. The majority of the girls liked it better when he shaved, so he carefully ran the razor over his cheeks, feeling for stray bristles. Once his cheeks were soft and stubble-free, he got dressed.

Number Three liked one of his old blue suits, so he put that one on, then polished a pair of comfortable black shoes. He checked himself in a full-length mirror before going down the stairs. The flowers had arrived just before lunch, six long-stemmed roses, which he carefully removed from the vase.

The girls watched him from the south pasture as he head down to the paddocks. Number One nodded her approval. Number Four and Number Eight giggled, blushed, and waved. As her turned to the gate to the north pasture, one of the girls wolf-whistled.

The farmer looked over his shoulder, back at the girls. Number One face-hoofed as Number Four and Number Eight rolled on the grass laughing. Number Nine was looking pointedly in another direction.

Number Nine had really been a hand-full ever since she started that job working for a video chat service. She used to be one of the shy ones, too.

He made his way up to the hut on the north pasture. The curtains were drawn on the small wooden house.

The farmer knocked on the front door, and the doorknob glowed magenta and turned to let him in.

A sultry voice came from inside. “Come on in, I'm waiting for you...”

Number Three had evidently spent a fair amount of time arranging things just so. The curtains were drawn, and the dim light was supplemented by large ivory candles on long cast-iron stands, surrounding the large bean-bag on the floor. Smooth jazz played quietly on the stereo.

She was wearing her favorite socks, high ones with broad purple and magenta stripes. As the farmer approached, she rolled on her left side, stretching out on the bean-bag, and blew him a kiss.

Her horn lit up, and she levitated the roses over.

“Oh! Thank you! That's so sweet!”

He joined her on the bean-bag in the spot she had made for him. She snuggled against him, and examined the roses carefully.

She nibbled a red flower and chewed slowly, savoring the taste of the roses. “Mmmm... they're delicious!”

The farmer stroked her shoulders as she enjoyed her bouquet. She daintily wiped her mouth with her fore-hoof and floated the bare stems into a wastepaper basket in the corner.

“Number Seven was telling me about the story she was working on. I had no idea so many people read erotic fan fiction!”

Number Seven had showed the farmer her work before. She had quite the imagination, and learned quickly. Sometimes she'd bounce ideas off Two and Eight out on the pasture.

“Really, she should work out something with Number Nine. Maybe she could give her some scripts to work off of for her video chats! I'm sure her customers would love it!”

He had to agree. Number Nine had a lot of regulars, and the checks from the chat service helped cover unexpected expenses.

The small talk died down, and the farmer and Number Three exchanged a long, tender look.

She stroked his cheek softly with a sock-clad hoof, and rolled back over on top of him. She pinned him down with a long, wet purple kiss, grinding her hips into his.

Number Three may have been shy about letting others watch, but that wasn't because she was afraid to get down to business. She pushed herself up on her fore-hooves, putting a little more weight on her grinding hips.

The farmer's cock was getting hard, and Number Three could feel it through his dress pants. She leaned a little further back, feeling his erection part her lower lips, rubbing her clit against the soft blue fabric.

“Oh, let's get rid of these.”

She didn't open his pants button with her horn, but used her lips instead, nuzzling his crotch as she pulled down his zipper.

He pulled off his pants, and his hard cock jutted through the fly of his boxer shorts. Number Three licked him just below his head and he felt her warm breath on the little damp spot.

Number Three teased him a little, taking the end of his cock into her mouth, circling her strong, nimble tongue just beneath his frenum, before popping it back out of her mouth to watch it throb.

Her eyes twinkled beneath her bangs, and she gestured with her fore-hoof. “OK, time to get naked.”

She gave the farmer a moment to completely undress, curled up on the bean-bag and watched him with burning, half-lidded eyes. As he folded up his suit jacket, she rolled over on her front, and lifted up her pert purple ass.

The farmer got down on his knees behind her, grasped her starburst emblazoned cheeks and gently spread them apart. Her pussy lips were swollen and red, her clit a hot red little pearl beneath her rosy inner lips.

It was his turn to tease her. As one hand firmly grasped a flank, he stroked around her stiff little clit with the other, almost but not quite touching it. He took the tip of his finger and slowly parted her inner lips, felt the warm wetness of her pussy, and gathered a little of her musky juice on the end of his fingertip.

She smothered a soft moan in the beanbag as she felt his fingertip enter her hot, tight little hole.

As one hand slowly made its way back down to her clit, he slid his other hand to the base of her tail, and gently but firmly twisted it forwards. She moaned again, and her pussy began to juice up in earnest.

He found her little mare-nub and stroked it a few times with his moist fingertips before beginning to stroke it with ever quicker staccato side-to-side strokes. Number Three buried her muzzle in the bean-bag and tried to stifle her throaty moans.

The farmer had made her cum like this before. She loved his hand-jobs.

He released her tail, which stayed up on its own. He stroked her blushing purple-pink asshole with his thumb and thought about Number Two's advice. He decided against it, it would probably push her over the edge in her current state.

Instead, he traced a path down between her hot inner lips, gently poking her fingertips inside her tight, hot, wet pink hole as he continued vigorously rubbing her clit. He opened her up a little, and her hot little clit was soon even slicker.

She was on the verge of orgasm.

She moaned, “I want you inside me. Fuck me, right now... I can't stand it.”

He slid the tip of his throbbing cock between her inner lips, poking the head of his shaft into her slick, tight little hole, teasing her. She may have been about to cum, but her vagina wasn't relaxed. Her hot, slick walls firmly grasped the head of his cock.

Number Three was getting impatient, and with a swift buck, she forced the farmer's full length inside her. She took the lead now, pushing her pretty purple ass against him, riding his cock as she felt it fill up her tight, overheated hole.

The farmer grasped her flanks and held on as Number Three took it slow, deep, and hard.

The farmer had asked Number Three why she didn't like crying out. She had told him that it felt more intense if she tried to keep it inside.

Number Three's eyes were closed and her face was scrunched up with concentration as she bit her lower lip.

The farmer felt her juices drip down his balls as she ground against him, gasping for air.

Her slick walls slid against his shaft as she impaled her marehood on the farmer's cock. Her energy was flagging.

He took over the thrusting, sliding out and then in again, quickening the pace as he filled her over and over again. She buried her face in the bean bag and tried to hold it in.

“Unnf... unnnnnf.... unnnnnnnf... auuughhhooooohhhhhh... ohhh... ohhhh... ohhhhh...”

She didn't want to yell, but it felt so good. The farmer's warm, hard cock filled her up again, and she ground her hips against him.

Resistance was futile.

Her muffled moans made the farmer fuck her faster, and as the farmer fucked her faster, her moans became deeper and throatier.

Number Three's climax had started, and she tried to prolong it as long as she could, riding the waves of pleasure for as long as they could carry her.

Her legs were trembling as her energy gave out. She needed a break, a chance to catch her breath.

The farmer pulled out of her and she flopped over on her side onto the bean-bag.

“Ohh... oh wow.”

They cuddled. Number Three was a little disappointed that the farmer hadn't cum inside her yet, but disappointment was a relative thing. He was still hard, and she still wanted more.

She lay on her back, rear hooves spread up in the air. The farmer wrapped his arms around them, grasped her flanks, and gently picked up her hips and slid his cock inside her.

Her fore-hooves twitched as she watched him fuck her. She may have been tired, but it felt so good.

The farmer felt Number Three relax. He cradled her hips, and gently yet firmly thrust inside her. Her whole body was becoming looser, and her breathing was slow and deep.

Even through her purple coat, he could see her belly flush. She closed her eyes and bit her lower lip. Her nipples, toughened and enlarged from a career as a milk pony, stood at attention.

Her rear socks were riding up her legs as his balls rhythmically slapped against her taint.

She looked at him, and her horn glowed softly. A gentle touch kneaded his balls and the farmer picked up his pace. He wouldn't need long now.

Number Three shook her hips a little in his grasp, and tried to grasp him as best she could with her warm wet walls. The farmer had the distinct sensation that Number Three was trying to milk his cock with her warm, wet cunt.

It worked, too. The farmer thrust inside her with a grunt, and her grip and the swaying of her hips brought him over the edge. She felt his balls pumping his seed inside her through her magical grip.

The tingling touch of her horn's magic struggled to keep hold of the farmer's testicles as blew his load inside Number Three. He looked down on her sweetly and brushed her sweaty bangs out of her eyes as she smiled broadly.

“Oh... thank you...”

They cuddled on the beanbag, sweaty and hot and tired. Number Three rolled back on top of the farmer, and short, sweet kisses fell on his lips like the rain from a summer thunderstorm. She felt a little sleepy, and closed her eyes, rubbing her cheek against the farmer's chest.

The farmer held his warm, sweaty, freshly fucked Sparkle and felt her drift off into a light nap, her mane spread on his broad chest.

They left the hut an hour later, to cheers, trampling applause, and wolf-whistles from the rest of the herd, who had gathered around to wait for them.

They welcomed a prancing Number Three like a sports hero. Number One whispered a question into Number Three's ear, and Number Three nodded vigorously, grinning from ear to ear. Number One smirked at the farmer as the others led Number Three off to clean her up.

Something was bothering the farmer. Where was Number Eleven?

She would usually join the others to gossip and tell stories, but she was conspicuously absent.

He waved Number One over to make sure. While the Sparkles did have subtle differences, it was hard to tell them apart in large groups.

Number One confirmed his fears. “No, she said she wanted to stay in her stall. I wish there was something I could tell her to make her feel better, the worry is driving her crazy.”

The farmer nodded. He needed to look into this, but he also needed to freshen up first.

Number Three's sweat and musk filled the shower stall as he cleaned himself up. She was a sweet girl, and he always enjoyed his appointments with her.

Number Eleven still weighed heavily on his mind. He dressed in his work jeans and a flannel shirt, and set out to the paddock.

The manual did mention that Sparkles could act erratically when their routines were disrupted or rendered impossible. Unfortunately, the advice given was extremely vague, a simple reiteration of the importance of ensuring that a Sparkle felt needed and wanted.

It wasn't a surprise that she wasn't in her stall. The girls could teleport. She could be anywhere.

He returned to the garage and fired up his four wheel drive truck. In all likelihood, she was somewhere out in the pastures, brooding.

The drive through the pastures was frustrating and inconclusive. He asked the others to keep an eye out for Eleven, and let him know if they spotted her, but he hadn't heard back from any of them yet.

The sun was going down. He drove back to the paddock to make sure the girls returned to the stables and make sure they had their evening meal.

He hoped that Eleven would be back in her stall, but the dark chamber was empty.

Night would come soon. He decided to keep trying to find her until darkness fell.

His first glimpse of hope was a magenta flash he saw out of the corner of his eye while driving through the north pasture. Eleven had seen him, and teleported away, but she was still on the farm.

The manual would recommend that he maintain a regular pattern, and be patient. At least, the manual would, if it covered this sort of situation. Its most serious flaw was its unspoken assumption that if everyone always did their best, everything would go according to plan. Despite its encyclopedic scope and brilliant organization, there were still many situations that required discernment and compassion, that were only hinted at.

He continued his loop through the north pasture, coming to the gate to the south pasture. The sky was becoming dark. Soon he would have to drive in the dark and hope Eleven saw his truck's lights and decided to come to him.

As he prepared to get back in the cab, another flash caught his eye.

To be exact, two flashes, one far, and one near.

He closed the driver's side door and walked slowly to the front of his truck.

Eleven sat on her haunches on the grass of the pasture. Her mane stuck out in all directions, ragged and unkempt. Her wild, wide-open violet eyes were filled with tears, and her expressive face was filled with sadness, fear, and doubt. The arc of her tail was as much of a tangled, unkempt mess as her mane.

“I'm... I'm sorry! I don't want you to worry about me... you or the others...”

Number Eleven swallowed a sniffle, and tried not to cry. Despite her best efforts to hold her tears inside, a few dripped down her cheeks, which she wiped away with a fore-hoof and a shudder.

“You aren't mad at me, are you?”

The farmer fell to his knees before Number Eleven and wrapped his arms around her, holding her as the last traces of twilight's light faded from the sky and the first, brightest stars appeared.

Number Eleven stopped crying and looked up. It was the night of a new moon, and the skies were clear and steady.

The farmer pulled away a little, and he and Number Eleven exchanged a long look in the dying light. The hysteria had faded from her eyes, and her body had relaxed.

“It's a beautiful night. Is everything in the truck?”

The farmer nodded, and went to fetch a large case from the back of the truck. He placed it on the ground, opened it, and retrieved a large picnic blanket which he spread out on the pasture.

Number Eleven sat down on the soft blanket, and the farmer retrieved a comb and a brush. Working slowly and carefully, he worked out the worst tangles in her mane and tail.

Number Eleven's lower lip trembled, and then she smiled, and turned her attention to a large box inside the case, opening it with her horn.

The telescope floated over to them, and she unfolded its stand.

“Did you bring a star atlas?”

The farmer said no.

“Well, then I'll have to remember that when I revise the manual. Silly me.”

They spent the night cuddling on the blanket. Number Eleven and the farmer took turns at the telescope, looked for planets in the bejeweled night sky and felt each others' warmth in the darkness.

Epilogue: All Through the Night

He watched her fetch the Barlow lens from the telescope case. How exactly she found Mars so quickly was a mystery to him, but she seemed to think it was common knowledge that Mars was close now.

"Hey, don't look at my horn! It'll ruin your night vision!" she scolded him gently. She even looked away as she slid the eyepiece out of the telescope and into one end of the Barlow, then slid the tube-shaped apparatus into the scope.

Her face scrunched as she readjusted the focus. "Yes... yes! Perfect."

He rolled over on the blanket to the dark form of the pretty purple pony and looked through the eyepiece.

Yes, that was a disk, a very small one, with barely perceptible splotches. He felt her warm breath on his neck as he took a long look at the distant planet. He told her what he saw, and could feel her beaming at him.

She mentioned she wanted to take another look as she moved her face to the eyepiece, rubbing her cheek against his. He shifted away a little, staying close enough to feel the warmth from her face and smell her scent. She must have noticed him staying close, as the rest of her body rolled over and her spine pressed gently into his belly.

"Oh yes, that's... Mars. That sure is... Mars-y."

He mentioned that is was also red and splotchy, to which she giggled. She shifted a little more weight towards him, savoring his warmth. He ran a hand down her back.

She still felt tense. There were little knots in the muscles beneath her soft pelt, little islands of tension.

She turned to face to him as she felt him probing her back. "Hey... that feels good. Let me lie down."

He missed the warmth of her body snuggled next to him. She stretched out on the blanket, arching her shoulders towards him. His fingertips moved over her back down to her croup, turning around at the dock to proceed up to the point of her hips, just beyond the tip of her starbursts. Moving onward, he caressed her ticklish flanks, forward to her even more ticklish ribs, before resuming the massage at her shoulder. His hands met at her withers, with detailed reconnaissance of the many small warm spots of tension in her back.

Moving slowly, he gently began to concentrate on each little spot in turn. Number Eleven's breathing became slow and regular, interrupted by short gasps as he began to work on a particularly stiff spot.

Number Eleven's tension and fears had engraved themselves into her muscular yet delicate back over the last month. He did what he could to gently untie the knots in her muscles. The short gasps became long sighs.

Her soft purple hairs brushed against his skin before springing back into place.

She felt like she was melting.

Her shoulders and withers needed some extra attention. The farmer carefully straddled her croup and went to work. It had always surprised him how muscular the Sparkles were. It took a fair bit of strength to relax the last few tense spots in her upper back, and the effort was repaid with a brace of soft moans and deep breaths.

Number Eleven felt like a warm piece of putty. She almost wanted to drift off to sleep. The feeling of the farmer's weight on her haunches gave her other ideas, however.

He lowered himself completely onto her back, holding and snuggling her, burying his face in her thick, lavender-scented mane.

Now she definitely didn't want to fall asleep.

"I think... when I make the next revision of the manual... I'll schedule regular massages. That was wonderful..."

He held her tight, and she felt his warmth.

She rolled over slowly on her side, and they spooned, her back to his belly. She wanted to tell him to keep rolling over onto his back, but being held and cuddled felt so good, and it gave her some time to think about what she wanted to do next.

"Roll over," she whispered. "I want to do something nice for you."

The magical grip of a unicorn could feel with astounding clarity. She thought she felt a warm welcome pressure on her coup as the farmer straddled her, and a gentle magical groping of the front of his pants confirmed it.

The farmer knew what was going to happen next. Number Eleven loved using her horn. His fly glowed magenta, and her magical grip gently pulled his semi-erect penis out of his pants.

Her horn glowed, and she lay down beside him, covering his face with purple kisses, stopping at his mouth to begin a long and deliberately inconclusive bout of tongue wrestling. His cock stiffened gratifyingly in her mystic grasp.

With a little practice, the magical grip of a unicorn could feel like nearly anything. She began with simple warmth and pressure, rings tightening and loosening from base to shaft, milking his cock as her tongue rubbed against his.

This time the farmer's breathing became deep and regular.

She had an encyclopedic collection of sensations to choose from, and began to let her mind wander. Rose petals, a gentle electrical tingle, a throbbing full-length grip, a warm slick ring gliding slowly up and down his shaft, all these things took their turn as she kissed him and felt him throb.

She broke off the kiss, leaving him panting with his eyes almost rolled into the back of his head. He looked adorable when he did that. The slick rings were driving him crazy, but that didn't stop him from moving a hand to her warm haunches.

She thought about sitting on his hand, letting a few fingertips probe at the warm wetness of her marehood, joined in solidarity with his throbbing and now spasming erection. It wouldn't be worth it, he was about to cum. He wouldn't be able to hold back. He'd just have to wait his turn.

She let a magenta tendril of energy inside her, and sent the sensations of her hot wet pussy to the glow around his member.

He managed to hold out for almost a minute.

Semen gushed in three high arcs from his cock as he grunted and grasped at the blanket.

Number Eleven grinned, and her own tendril of energy felt the inside of her pussy get warmer and slicker. She liked having sex with him off schedule. It felt naughty, the good kind of naughty everyone should get the chance to enjoy, without the pressure of the routines and procedures she so dearly loved.

His penis was growing soft in her ghostly grasp, but there were ways to fix that.

A slick ring of thought firmly grasped the base of his shaft as she teased the tip with the sensations boiling inside her. A little patience paid off, and the stimulation coaxed a slight stiffening, which she rewarded with a deeper, more detailed rendition of the hot sloppy wetness she felt as she probed herself.

It took a while, but he was soon rock-hard. Number Eleven licked her lips and straddled the writhing farmer.

Standing up on her fore-hooves, she lowered herself slowly down on the farmer's member, guiding the tip of his cock into her shockingly eager hole with her magic.

However good her mimicry was, the sensation of her hungry wet walls was something else entirely. He reached up and stroked her cheek as she took him completely inside her.

Bouncing on her rear hooves, she took the lead, fucking her dear farmer, slowly and carefully dosing herself with the wonderful sensation of him inside her, enjoying her cautious descent into pleasure. It felt so good to be in control, to...

His wonderful warm hands moved to her haunches, grasping them and holding on as rode his shaft. His hips began bucking a wonderful counterpoint to her pace, punctuating her pleasure.

She wanted this to last, but his eager thrusts were forcing her to re-schedule her appointment with orgasm. It looked like it would be a good bit earlier than planned.

It seemed silly to her to be frustrated with the fact that he was good at this. He had had a lot of practice.

It appeared her best-planned lay was about to be interrupted by the welcome fact that she was just barely holding herself together, and there he was, pumping even faster.

Oh, dear. Was it that time already?

Her cries of pleasure echoed through the pasture as her warm musky juices dripped down the farmer's cock and balls.

She had no objection as he rolled her on her back and took over.

She had no need to worry about it ending too soon, his pounding pushing her again and again over the edge, her tail and a growing spot on the blanket becoming soaking wet. It felt so good to have him fuck her just because they both wanted to. It felt...

He grunted, and came. She was glad to have the chance to catch her breath.

They lay together, spooning again, sweaty and happy beneath the stars. His hands stroked her belly, moving down to her warm, sensitive teats.

She felt a slight dampness. Surely it was just sweat.

The farmer sat up and took one of her teats into his mouth, moaning happily as he eagerly suckled her. That silly farmer must like the taste of her sweat.

It hurt a little, but the sensation of moisture excited her. She was too tired to make a light in the darkness, but she felt the milk mustache on his lips and the sweet taste on his tongue.

"Yes... yes!.... yes!"

She snatched him in her fore-hooves, and they rolled around on the blanket in the pasture beneath the moonless starry night, and she knew that there was at least one more thing right with the world.