AH3: Milk It For All It's Worth

His footsteps crunched on the gravel of the path leading down to the stables. Over in the pasture, two of the girls were fussing over a third Rarity's mane.

John honed his unicorn-spotting skills by attempting to identify them. The one with the brush, combing out the wet mane of the other Rarity was almost certainly Treize – she had specialized in mane and tail care, and designed the extra-large curlers the girls used to maintain their signature look.

The unicorn levitating her a curler the length of his forearm watched the proceedings with interest over her red cat-eye glasses. John had to think for a moment; several of the girls made a habit of perching glasses on the tips of their delicate little noses, either when they were doing delicate detail work, or when they wanted to look clever. As he watched her roll the third unicorn's hair into the curler under Treize's approving gaze, his suspicion that the Rarity assisting Treize was Neuf, the jeweler, was confirmed – the sparkle of her earrings gave it away.

And who was the third unicorn? John caught a glimpse of scuffed hooves. It must be Cinq, the sculptor, who wanted to wash the marble dust from her mane, coat, and tail. Her posture echoed one of her recent works, still and regal. Treize and Neuf moved on to her tail, and she sat, chin high, with her mane neatly wrapped in a pair of curlers. He had seen them do this before – they would let their manes dry in the sun.

Cinq gave him a long look, and Treize and Neuf whispered to each other.

He continued on down the path. A pair of Rarities took turns nibbling from the grass bar. It was one of Dix's ideas, a plot of pasture planted with different varieties of grasses and wildflowers in neat little squares, arranged in a long rectangle for easy grazing. Bluegrass, sweet clover, violets, arugula, daisies, wild rye, bermuda grass, and velvet bent all vied for the attentions of peckish unicorns.

The two Rarities looked up. One waved at John, and the other whispered something in her ear.

He had a little less than half an hour before his appointment with Six, and there was always work to be done on the farm. He opened the gate to the pasture, and decided to have a look at the bungalow the Rarities sometimes used as a retreat when tensions among them came to a head.

John's path took him over the crest of a low hillock overlooking a tree-shaded pond. He had to duck as a divan clutched in a ghostly blue glow flew past him over his left shoulder.

Two white unicorns had set up a picnic in the shade of a willow tree, and lay on pillows on each side of an elaborate blanket laden with trays of sandwiches. The trajectory of the divan brought it to a third Rarity.

She looked up and waved at John.

“Sorry, Darling...” she called faintly, before rolling onto the couch to join her friends in eating crust-less cucumber and daisy sandwiches and sipping tea.

All three of them observed him continue along the side of the pond over their floating cups of tea.

There was one feeling John was familiar with, that of being watched. Going to prison does that to a man. In prison, it wasn't just the guards watching you all the time, it was the other inmates, too, and if you wanted to stay out of trouble, you needed to watch them, too, and feel when something bad was brewing.

Being a convicted felon only made it harder to find a life outside, too. Towards the end of his sentence, he'd replied to a personal ad, hoping that a pen pal could give him some kind of perspective on a life in freedom that didn't involve guns, drugs, and his dumb-ass ex-friends. Getting in touch with a herd of kinky unicorns was, to say the least, unexpected. Even better, they were willing to give him another chance at life as a free man.

Even if everything had changed since his sentence for armed robbery, those four years had left an indelible mark. He couldn't help but feel that something had happened among the girls, that maybe one of their rivalries had gotten a little out of control.

He was close to the bungalow now. A white unicorn trotted out of the pond onto a small pebble beach. Her purple mane and tail were waterlogged and dripped onto the small round stones. She waved at him, and he waved back.

John could feel her eyes watching him.

It made sense to be cautious. As he approached the front door, he heard a soft, rhythmic noise that made him think twice about just barging in.

He wasn't sure what it was. It could easily be sobbing.

While the girls usually craved attention, there were times when inconsolable really meant inconsolable, when they needed some time by themselves. The down side of being ambitious and trying to coax beauty out of everything they touched was that disappointment and frustration was always especially painful for them.

John found a back window, and risked a peek inside.

There was a white unicorn inside, sprawled on a divan, but she wasn't crying.

He was pretty sure it was Six, too.

“What the fuck?” he mumbled to himself under his breath.

It wasn't just the sight of one of the girls loudly pleasuring herself in a darkened room that made him ask that question. He'd strongly imprinted on the girls, and seeing what he'd seen had an effect on him as well.

Now he had the faintest beginnings of an erection, and he was going to see Six in fifteen minutes. Considering the state she was in, she'd probably finish pretty soon and still have time to get herself cleaned up.

Trying not to think about it made it worse. John found himself wishing there was somewhere nearby where he could take a cold shower. Maybe he could hop into the pond?

Even if he didn't know what was going on in detail, he had a vague idea that Six had been the victim of an intrigue among the Rarities.

Her specialty, cheese-making, was a bit of a sore spot for some of the others. Rarity milk was rich and creamy, with a complex, pleasant flavor, with notes of vanilla and a slight but noticeable tang.

Reminding the girls of its similarity to goats' milk was a sure way to get prodded with a horn.

Six had been working the last few years adapting recipes for various goat cheeses to the unicorns' milk, aspiring to produce gourmet products that would bring in much-needed profits to the farm.

Vanity and insecurity went bit and bridle with the Rarities, and Six's projects seemed to hit a sore spot with some of the others. It was entirely possible that they would gang up on her. Now the question was to find out what pressure the others were placing on Six.

Her cheese factory was in the far corner of the pasture. Several of the other Rarities had complained about the possibility it might smell unpleasant, and they had insisted it be placed far away from the stalls.

In the end, it had been a good decision. The long walk through the pastures filled with frolicking white unicorns had generally positively impressed potential luxury food buyers. Several suggested sending in photographers and encouraging the editors of lifestyle magazines to write stories about the unicorn farm as a part of a push to place Six's creations squarely into the luxury segment of the gourmet cheese market.

Her eyes always sparkled particularly bright when she talked about the possibilities of selling unicorn cheese to famous chefs and the elite. It was her dream, her chance to hob-nob with celebrities and functionaries in the outside world. He even believed in it a little himself.

He opened the storm door to the underground cheese factory and descended into a sitting room furnished with dark blue velvet wall hangings and marble floors. He sat in one of the overstuffed red leather chairs surrounding a low coffee table and waited for Six to arrive.

He tried not to think about what was keeping her. He wanted to be on his best behavior.

Six arrived a few minutes too late, dewy and refreshed, with a bright smile on her face. She had taken the time to put on an ornamental saddle that held a gauzy, flower-pattered sun-dress that covered her flanks and haunches. “Sorry to keep you waiting, darling, I had some sticky business to attend to.”

John's eyes narrowed, but he smiled back.

“Come to the back, I want to show you my newest creation – our newest creation!”

A small door opened, and she beckoned him to follow her to a back room that led to the cellars where Six's cheeses ripened.

“Bend over,” she purred. “I don't want you to hit your head on the lintel.”

He followed her to a stone chamber. A glass dome covered a small, flat cylinder the diameter of his palm. It was covered in an orange crust a color somewhere between the hue of a traffic warning sign and the shade of fresh toast.

“This,” trilled Six, “is my newest creation. I modified the recipe used to create Époisses de Bourgogne
to our milk – so this is a relatively fresh cheese, aged about six weeks, ripened in hard apple cider. The aroma is... well, smell for yourself...”

A blue aura grasped the glass cheese bell and lifted it up. Six scrunched her nose in anticipation.

“...holy... ...shit....”

John croaked the words out as if he had been punched in the gut. The odor awakened Proustian memories of the cell block in high summer, a collected stench of sweaty men with questionable hygiene.

Six's delicate little muzzle remained firmly scrunched. She continued, “...well, it is supposed to have a, shall we say, strong odor...”

There was an awkward pause. John was able to maintain some semblance of composure. Six cut a small wedge out of the reeking disc with a cheese knife. She gave John a side-long glance and expertly removed the orange rind with a few knife strokes before floating the delicate, slightly runny pale yellow cheese over to him.

“Do have a bite...”

Six smiled at him expectantly.

His time in prison also meant that his sense of smell acclimatized quickly. The morsel floating in front oh him was considerably milder than the reeking cylinder it was cut from. He steeled his nerves and opened his mouth.

Six beamed as she shoved the small piece of cheese into John's mouth.

He chewed carefully. The flavor was considerably milder than the smell. In fact, mixed in with the creamy, soft cheesiness, it was shockingly pleasant, if intense.

He swallowed.

“It's... delicious.” John could hardly believe it, but it was true. The flavor was intense, a raunchy and musky yet savory aroma that lingered on the tongue.

“Now, I haven't tried it with pasteurized milk yet. I suspect that will considerably tone down the smell, but considering the regulations against the sale of raw-milk cheeses, I'll pretty much have to adapt it if we want to sell this out-of-state or offer it to wholesalers. Nevertheless, I think we have a gastronomic sensation on our hands – I shall call it Époisses de Licorne blanche!”

The rich flavor on his tongue was fading. Six looked overjoyed.

“Do you think you could put that back under glass?”

“Of course, Darling!”

Six pranced back into the sitting room, and John followed. He made sure to turn on the ventilation fans before he closed the door.

John looked at her haunches wiggling beneath her sun-dress. She was in a good mood. That should make things easier.

“Six?”

“Yes, dear?”

“You weren't there for my rounds this morning. Is something wrong?”

“Oh, no! I'm just... not producing right now.” She blushed. He was going to guess why, wasn't he?

He knelt down beside her. Her blush progressed to a whole-body flush.

“Should it be your turn up at the house?” he whispered in her ear.

“Well, we have our rules...” Her voice trailed away. He and her hormones were making this very difficult. “I'll just have to wait my turn.”

She forced a smile.

“That seems terribly unfair.”

He was right. Her heat would pass in a few days, and then she'd have to wait for her chance to come up to the farmhouse. Those were the rules, she reflected bitterly.

“It is.” He was so charming. She was glad her sun-dress was there to protect what little modesty she had left. Her full-body flush had progressed. Trying to sate herself earlier had, if anything, made itworse now.

“If you need me to,” he said, “I can help you feel better. That's allowed.”

“John...” Six's lower lip trembled. “I... yes, I do want you to...”

The words came out involuntarily. She meant them, too.

He lifted the hem of her sun-dress over her rump, and her tail followed by reflex. This would help, not as much as a good hard rutting, but...

His tongue took a first tour of her overheated sex. “Ohhhh...”

The tip probed inside her, and she could offer him no resistance. Her walls welcomed him warmly and wetly.

“John, I...”

He returned his attentions to her little pink pearl. She couldn't contain her moans.

It was going to take a while, too, before the sweet release would come. She very much wanted to share it with him.

She took a step back, and John followed her movement, grasping her flanks and pulling her down to sit on his face.

She saw the bulge in his pants, and her mind reached out to unzip him. It was only fair, after all.

“I am a naughty, naughty pony,” she whispered to herself as she pulled his shaft free.

John tried to maintain a steady rhythm as he felt Six's mouth eagerly envelop his cock. She didn't waste time with probing licks, she wanted him inside her – one way or the other.

The hem of her sun-dress hung like a veil over her eyes, held up by her horn, as her head bobbed up and down, trying to give him what he was so successfully giving her. She felt his moan stifled by her most sensitive parts, and his tongue shifted its attentions from her clit to her warm opening.

They were already past the point of no return. She held herself back from orgasm by sheer force of will.

She did what came naturally, and took his full length into her mouth and throat, touching his balls with her upper lip, a soft glottal click marking the moment when she began to deep-throat him. Her horn pulled free from the hem of her sun-dress.

As his eager tongue fucked her sloppy hole, she swallowed rhythmically, letting the muscles of her throat do the work. She did so wish it was his cock back there pumping away at her, but this would have to do.

Even if it wasn't the where she wanted, he was going to cum inside her.

His mouth pulled away from her pussy, and he moaned as he blew his load into her hungry gullet.

Briefly sated, they both lay on the floor, trembling a little.

“Are... are you OK?” His voice was a little unsteady.

“Yes...”

The problem with teasing herself like that was that she now wanted more. She rolled off him, and he sat up slowly.

His hand caressed her cheek. She needed to say it before she lost her nerve.

“John... I need you to...”

He kissed her deeply, which surprised her. She could still taste his salty load. His tongue slipped into her mouth anyway.

They broke off the kiss. “Would you... be naughty with me?”

John nodded eagerly.

In the back of his mind, he thought about a night a lifetime ago, standing in front of a filling station with a loaded pistol.