Barley Barrel Fucks Everypony

Barley jingled the small coinpurse tucked away under her wing. It felt good to have some bits to her name, even if it wasn't yet enough for the ultimate present for Pickle. Still, it had been a successful day. She doubted the filly scout's in the big cities were able to make the kind of bits she'd managed to stow away. She vaguely wondered if cookies would sell around their little town when she heard some familiar bickering behind a nearby fence.

They had been arguing about apricots before the topic quickly turned to complaining about the neighbours. Barley recognized the Upscale Manehattan accents almost immediately. An idea springing to mind, she jumped into the air and hovered just above the fence.

"Mister and Missus Hoofinton!" She exclaimed loudly, to which the Unicorn couple jumped to a start.

"Yes, Barley. How may we--"

"Apricots! I can reach the top of the tree, and help you pick them. For a few bits, of course..." She cut off the stallion before he could finish her sentence as she fluttered down to the soft grass in their yard, inviting herself in. Mr. Hoofington simply rolled his eyes.

"Magic, darling. We can pick them ourselves plenty fine, thank you!" He was abrupt and curt, standing up and ready to shoe her away before his wife stopped him. She gave him a glare, something was whispered between them, and before Barley knew it the stallion had sat back down.

"...Did you say you were in need of bits, sweetheart?" the mare interjected. She watched Barley with an intrigued smirk in the corner of her muzzle. "As my husband said, we don't need help picking Apricots, but perhaps there is another way we could...make an arrangement?"

The air inside the Hoofington's home was stale and dry. Barley licked her dry lips and sipped at a glass of water as she gazed around the upscale kitchen. All new countertops, fancy appliances. The Hoofington's certainly wanted any and everypony who visited to know they were an important family back where they were from.

Harsh whispers echoed from the adjoining room and Barley attempted to listen, swivelling her ears this way and that, trying to pick up key words, but nothing was decipherable. Her patience, however, was rewarded when the Hoofington's walked back into the room. Mr. Hoofington took the long way around the kitchen, walking around behind Barley with his eyes glued to her. She felt like he would bore a hole through her body. Mrs. Hoofington, on the contrary, walked in front of Barley at the Kitchen counter and put on an icy smile.

"Twenty bits!" announced the mare, her eyes never leaving Barley, "for doing what we say and keeping it our secret. I assume you know the drill what with the other ponies in town?"

Barley was left aghast and surprised. How had they known about her dealings with the other ponies? As if reading her mind, Mrs. Hoofington continued.

"Oh, we know. Word gets around. But rest assured your secret it safe with us, darling. Now come along!" She clapped her hooves together and Barley felt herself being whisked away.

The rest of the Hoofington house was much alike the kitchen. Dry, expensive, eloquent. Little expense was spared in decoration but to Barley it resembled more of the sterile, clean hallways of a hospital than a place where somepony lived. Mrs. Hoofington lead them through the Living Room and up the staircase while her Husband stayed behind. Up the stairs, down a hallway and passed closed doors and a startingly white bathroom that seemed to sparkle. Barley observed several picture frames that hung on the walls with younger-looking Hoofington's and a third young mare through different stages of her life.

The end of the hall was their destination, and Mrs. Hoofington promptly opened the door to a small bedroom. Much of it was adorned in pink, from the princess-themed bedspread to a large plushie collection and the curtains on the window. Barley didn't need to hear what the mare said next; she knew for whom this room belonged to.

"Our daughter's room," Mrs. Hoofington stated, pointing out the obvious, "She moved away to university last year. Her absence has been sorely felt around here, particularly by my Husband."

Barley started to see where she was going, but said nothing as she walked around the room. Being a tomboy herself, the lavish girlishness of it all made her sick. How could anypony like all this?

"...And she's a brilliant student from what she has written to us, but her letters are so few and far in-between." Mrs. Hoofington continued droning on about how magnificent their daughter was. Barley's lack of attention and obvious boredom earned her a sharp glare, and the mare carried on.

"But nevertheless, that's all you need to know. She is prim and proper, good and school, and does what she's told. I expect you know at least a thing or two about that. Goodness, your hooves are filthy, get off the bed!" She shouted and Barley nearly jumped out of her skin, quickly sliding back down to the floor. Her hooves made contact with the soft carpet soundlessly.

"Listen," the mare rubbed the bridge of her nose and looked down in frustration. "Go wash yourself. She would never have dirtied herself like some colt. When you are finished you will put on the dress I have laid out for you and wait on the bed. And don't even think about wearing that disgusting hat. You have twenty minutes. Mr Hoofington will join us shortly. Do as you are told and be a good filly, keep your mouth shut and call him 'Daddy' a few times and you will get your bits. Now run along!"

Barley did as she was told. She trudged to the sparkling bathroom and ran a bath while she quietly undressed herself of her beloved beanie and shirt. When the tub was partly full and deemed warm enough, she climbed over the side and slid into the water. The shampoo they had was much too flowery and girly for her liking, and she knew she would hear about it from Pickle later, but she decided not to complain. She methodically washed each of her hooves, making sure to clear the dirt from her frogs. She lathered up her mane with soap, rinsing it off. Her wings, too, received an extra cleaning.

After she'd pulled the cork on the basin and watched the now-dirty water descend into the drain, Barley grabbed a nearby fluffy towel--which she begrudgingly noticed was pink--and dried herself off. Her fur, still damp in places, poofed out. She quickly ran a brush through her mane to save herself from any complaints about that, either. Twenty bits was a lot of money, she decided, and would be more than enough to allow her to get the present for Pickle, with enough leftover for lunch.

She left her clothes on the bathroom floor as she trudged back to the bedroom, impatient to get this over with, while morbidly curious as to what Mrs. Hoofington had picked out for her. When she saw the frilly pink dress that had been laid out for her, she nearly blanched. It was so far gone from anything Barkley would ever be caught dead in that she felt like somepony was playing a cruel joke.

Begrudgingly, and with disgust in herself, she wiggled into the dress, noticing the lack of holes for her wings, how it tightened around her flanks to accentuate her figure. The one redeeming quality was that it had straps around her shoulders rather than sleeves or frilly cuffs. Aside from that, Barley questioned why anypony would ever wear such an ugly garment.

A voice from the corner of the room mumbled its praise and Barley realized that Mrs. Hoofington had been sitting there this whole time, watching from a chair. They made eye contact but neither said anything. Barley knew what was expected of her. Biting her lip and pushing down aside her inhibitions about the strange situation, she laid down on her belly, drawing close to herself a small teddy bear that had been placed by the pillow, and waited.

She didn't have to wait long. The sound of hoofsteps coming up the stairs echoed through the silent anticipation that hung around the room. She could practically hear his every step as he neared closer and closer to the door. He waited outside for a brief moment, then knocked. Without waiting for a reply he then turned the doorknob with his magic and swung it aside.

His breath caught in his throat as he gazed upon the filly laid across his daughter's bed. Barley found herself blushing as he stared at her so intensely for what felt like long minutes. Eventually, he walked in, stepping around the bed to gaze all around her, using his magic to toy with the dress, lifting it up, pulling it about, ruffling the frills.

"You look just like her," he breathed. He didn't even acknowledge his wife as he took a step closer to the bed, lifting a forehoof to touch one of Barley's rear ones. He cleared his throat at last and spoke louder, "...I hear you're doing well at school, darling."

"Yes, Daddy," was Barley's response, following his wife's instruction to not say much. Mr. Hoofington's ear twitched and he grinned wide. He liked that, if the rapidly swelling length under him was any indication.

"Good girl." His voice hung thick in the air as he gazed at her with a predatory grin. The hoof on her hind leg started to drift up, sliding under her dress. Barley gulped and huddled the teddy bear close to herself, doing her best impression of a cute, innocent little filly that wasn't about to get railed by her father. What a messed up family this had to of been.

"And you've been making lots of friends?" His hoof slid up and up, bunching up her dress around her backside, touching her thighs. "Making your teachers happy?"

"Yes, Daddy," said Barley again, closing her eyes as his hoof finally made contact with her young slit. He cupped her soft, puffy folds in his hoof and massaged in circles, trailing around the outside of her mound, teasing her in the most wondrous of ways. The air hung thick with the scent of stallion.

Suddenly her dress was pulled back abruptly, both of Mr. Hoofington's hooves planting on her rump under the fabric of her clothing. He mounted the bed and dove under her dress, his muzzle stealing away to her secret place underneath of her dress, between her legs. All of a sudden he was kissing her with wet smacks, his tongue dancing around her outer folds and just teasing the pink, budding flesh between her soft lips. Dancing between them, up and down, at a feverent place.

Barley stifled a moan into the teddy bear as her body trembled and reacted positively to the stallion's ministrations. She vaguely wondered if he did this to his real daughter, or if this was some sort of sick fantasy of his. Either way, he was bucking good with his tongue. Barley felt a familiar warmth starting to build deep in her tummy, a hot stickiness forming between her legs, before being eagerly lapped up by the Mr. Hoofington's roaming tongue.

Before Barley had a chance to let out another moan, her clenching pussy on the verge of a powerful wink, Mr. Hoofington pulled away. She felt herself getting sticky again already, her tail obediently flagged up and over her back. Mr. Hoofington admired her cushy rear for a moment and dived right back in, but this time focused on the puckered ring just above.

Barley squeaked as she felt a foreign, wet appendage probing at her little tailhole. She'd never even so much as experimented before there. What was he doing! Didn't he know what kind of place that was! But before she even had a chance to let out a protest, he'd wormed his tongue past her ring and was now probing her deep inside. She squeaked and jolted in place, earning a chuckle from the stallion behind her.

"There's a good girl. Just let it alllll out." He spoke between slurps and licking, alternating between sloppy, wet kisses to her puckered tailhole and her waiting, tiny little fillyhood that winked in his face, drooling excited filly juices onto his chin.

"Eeeek!" Barley moaned out, unable to muffle herself with her Teddy any longer. "D-daaaadyyy!" She squealed. She came while he had his muzzle back on her snatch and rewarded him with a burst of excited filly juices all over his face and chin.

Coming down from her orgasm, Barley recognized her own scent filling the room, mixing with that of the stallion, but there was another. Her eyes looked back to the corner and she realized that Mrs. Hoofington was also touching herself, her marehood exposed with a forehoof between her legs, rubbing away. They made eye contact and the mare came, squirting onto the pink chair and her hoof.

The bed squeaked behind Barley as Mr. Hoofington rose up, his average-sized stallionhood coming into full view and blocking out the light of a nearby lamp, blackening her vision. He was stroking himself eagerly, eyes glued to her flank. His free hoof held to her rear, he started to point himself down, getting ready to line himself up...

...and Barley's vision was blocked by that of Mrs. Hoofington, who'd crossed the room without Barley noticing. A hoof on Barley's head, she was redirected in front of her, her muzzle pushed right into Mrs. Hoofington's dripping slit. Barley obediently tilted her muzzle forward, sticking out her tongue and preparing herself to lap up all the mare's juices...

...when a distinct pressure was placed against her tailhole, still wet from the stallion's tongue. She realized instantly what the pressure belonged to, and though she couldn't see it, she knew what was about to happen. He was going to take her ass. Fearfully, Barley tried to lift her head but she was locked in place by Mrs. Hoofington's surprisingly strong hooves. She was given a push and her little muzzle was pressed right up against the winking slit in front of her.

And and her anal virginity was taken in an instant. The stallion above groaned as he pushed inside, past her ring, spreading her apart and impaling her oh-so-tight rump on his thick, meaty stallionhood. Barley squealed in surprise but was muffled as the mare started to grind herself on her muzzle.

Blinking away the pain of initial penetration Barley attemped to lap and lick around Mrs. Hoofington's inner canal, exploring with her tiny tongue, trying to pay extra attention to her little nub. Her own rump wiggled back and forth once to adjust herself. Suddenly, it was like Mr. Hoofington had forgotten about being gentle. A hoof planted itself on the bed next to her and he started to buck wildly, dragging his cock along her walls as he pulled himself in and out so crudely.

Muzzle buried in a mare's snatch, stallion rutting away at her tailhole, Barley had never been fucked quite so thoroughly. If this is what the Hoofington's had done to their daughter, there was no real wonder why she had wanted to leave for college. Still, Barley had to admit that it felt strangely good being used like some thing, a playtoy, an object for sexual gratification.

Both forehooves placed next to Barley, Mr. Hoofington began bucking in rapid, deep thrusts. Mrs. Hoofington held Barley's head and pushed her so much deeper that the filly could barely breathe. All Barley knew was pleasing them, both ends of her desperately trying to keep up with what was demanded of her. Both adults on either side became more erratic. It couldn't be much longer.

Mr. Hoofington bent over and began thrusting with wild abandon. Mrs. Hoofington started to grind herself on Barley's muzzle.

"Gods, you're so tight. What a good girl." Mr Hoofington put a hoof on Barley's back, his hips colliding with her rear in loud slaps.

"Yesss, keep licking Momma like that. Ohhh..." Mrs. Hoofington threw her head back, squealing into the air, a single hoof ruffling Barley's mane.

Both adults came at the same time and Barley barely knew what was happening. Her vision was mostly black, perhaps due to her obstructed views, or maybe it was the lack of oxygen. Her rear felt sore and thoroughly used, but also tingly and hot as Mr. Hoofington unloaded his thick, virile seed deep into her gut. Mrs. Hoofington squirted burst after burst of marecum onto Barley's face.

And Barley, despite being used like a plaything with little regard for her own comfort and pleasure, and despite no attention to her fillyhood whatsoever...came all over the dress and sheets. It was the best orgasm of her life. Then she promptly passed out.

The Hoofington's, recovering from their collective orgasm, panting for air, looked at each other in amazement and extreme satisfaction.

"Did she just cum?"

"I think she did. What a slut."

Barley was awoken sharply a few moments later when the Hoofington's started to undress her. She was given the chance to bathe and clean herself again, which she did promptly and sleepily, redressed herself, and met them downstairs at the Kitchen Table oncemore.

A hefty bag of bits awaited her. Barley eyed it hungrily.

"For the best service we've had in a long time. You played the part perfectly," said Mr. Hoofington.

"I trust this stay between us," Mrs. Hoofington eyed Barley suspiciously.

Barley took the bits and counted them. Fifty-two bits, far more than she expected. She looked between the couple in disbelief.

"That's an extra treat for an extra special filly. Now, be on your way!"

Barley was whisked away out of the house and found herself on the streets once again, with far more bits than she'd needed, feeling strange about the events that had befallen her. What a weird family. What a weird day.

At least now she had enough bits for Pickle's present.