Mare wiped the sweat from her brow as she stood from her potting work. Though the glint of the fleeting sun cast a gleam across the rest of her effort-soaked, bovine body it was the drip of sweat in her eye that had annoyed her the most. Even freshly slicked across her forearm it caused a nuisance.

Her eyes drifted from the promising pots full of freshly transplanted flowers out across the wavering fields of grain. The harvest would be robust this year. Adding onto that the money and succulent dishes she'd make from the lesser animals, lacking the intelligence of anthros like Mare, there might some day be a retirement on sandy shores.

Mare's thoughts of who she'd sell the land off to and what her employees would do were interrupted by sounds of distress. The perk of her ears directed her toward the barn and her feet moved to catch up to that realization. Breaking into a brisk jog and cursing her swinging lack of a bra today, she thought 'Was that a goat I heard? Can't have been Margret. She should be off by now. One of the lesser goats got out of the pens again, maybe?'

The closer she got to the barn the stranger her thoughts became. The singular cry she'd heard was a bleat, she'd decided. It could have been a human sneaking into the barn, but that would mean she'd probably find them hurt. There was no other reason, in her mind, a human would cry out. The more likely possibility was that Margret, her goat-like farmhand, had hurt herself or that she'd left the barn open and a lesser goat slipped in after escaping the pen.

Yet as she approached the barn other, more disturbing, noises replaced the cry. There were no words, but something loudly muffled. Then the muffles transformed into slick sounds. It was the noise of something slimy and squelching. By the time Mare and her acute ears reached the ajar barn door all was silent.

She steeled herself to rush inside with clenched fists and darting eyes.

A rancid smell hit her nose as she swung the door wide, but she ignored it. The lesser animals and their pens were worse than whatever offending odor she encountered. Then she noted the barn was, for the most part, as it had been when Mare had seen it in the morning.

“Marge? You conk your head or something?” Mare called out and immediately regretted it when the reply wasn't sentient speech.

She heard a scraping and shifting of hay instead.

'Not good,' she thought.

A pitchfork was easy enough to find without personal risk, but even with it Mare didn't feel completely safe. She was sure of herself and her aim when it came to defending her farm. Yet the noises she had heard . . .

Fully alert, she crept slowly with her weapon at the ready, moving past vacant stalls and stacked mounds of hay bails. Finally, she got to the end of the stall row and noted the hurried mess of footprints on the dirty floor. They were partly obscured by the scattering of hay leading right into the last stall.

“I know someone's in here. Speak up now! I've got a weapon and I'm not afraid to use it,” Mare called out once more, hoping this time it would be persuasive. She didn't have a weak stomach – that wouldn't have done for the butchery required in raising livestock. Killing a creature she could talk to, however, didn't bode well even in self-defense.

No reply.

Mare threw open the stall door and was struck by a terrible odor that rivaled the barnyard without the relief of open air. Reflexively she lowered the point of her pitchfork as she stared quizzically at an awkward pile of hay sprinkled in a vain attempt at concealing the muck beneath. She almost missed the scaled green face peeking around a bail inside the stall.

“Who?” Mare asked, raising the pitchfork again, but faltering. With each passing second the farm owner noted the gentle features of the reptilian face. The intruder's body slowly crept into view clothed in nothing more than a pastel purple wig. Her, because it seemed clearly to be a her, slender form playing on Mare's intrigue for the same sex and mystery.

“Hooo?” the intruder asked in return, cocking her head.

“What?' Mare blinked, bewildered. This trespasser was asking her who she was?

“Wot?” the intruder parroted back, stepping out into the open without regard for Mare's uncertain weapon.

Mare groaned when the realization hit her. “You don't understand, do you?”

The reptilian woman gave a chirp in return, but Mare recognized the confusion in her narrow eyes.

Stray anthros, even those with lesser-leaning intellect, weren't unheard of. Mare's neighbors had even had trouble with the occasional avian or rodent. There was even the time a few stoned mammals woke up with Mare's shotgun barrels in their faces before the matter was resolve with a swift kicks.

“Nope. Well, I guess it can't be helped,” Mare sighed heavily and rested her pitchfork against her shoulder. She stepped out of the stall and beckoned the trespasser to follow. “Little lizzy... Hmmm, Izzy? Come on. Can't have you in my barn.”

The reptilian woman chirped, bemused, and followed. She made no attempt to decline the nickname or to call attention to the disheveled, stinking pile of muck Mare had readily overlooked in the barn. The pile with faint, glinting bone and fabric embedded in it. Most certainly the last time Mare would see Marge -

-*-*-*-*-

Mare Lee: (Sorry, I have to stop for the moment. I'm being called to work early.)

Spider-Witch Saleen: (Damn! Well, hope we can continue next time.)

Mare Lee: (Of course, I'm enjoying it so far. Though not sure about the implied disposal.)

Spider-Witch Saleen: (Ah, sorry. It's not set on your kinks so I figured implied might slip by)

Mare Lee: It's fine. I should edit my kinks a bit, though. It didn't hurt things for me, but should explore it another time.

Spider-Witch Saleen: (Understandable.)

Mare Lee: Throwing on my uniform. Got any other prey lined up to scratch the itch?

Spider-Witch Saleen: Might take a look, but otherwise... Well, that's what porn is for! Heehee

Mare Lee: Don't settle for second best, Saleen. We've only had a couple posts, but I can already tell you're a predator I'll enjoy.

Spider-Witch Saleen: You know just the ri-

Mare Lee: No time to argue.

Mare Lee: Out the door!

Mare Lee cackles and flees.

“Cheeky,” Daisy said aloud with a chuckle.

She took out her earbuds, letting the music she'd been playing fall away only to hear something that made her put them back in. The rhythmic tapping hadn't just been an ambiance to her song after all. The low, muffled groans of Chelsey and her new boyfriend certainly weren't. Daisy almost choked on her breath imagining a song made that way and she tried not to laugh as her cheeks darkened.

Teased by her imagination relentlessly thanks to her paused roleplay, the evening's conversations, and the noise in the next room Daisy decided to handle things on her own. Clicking through some websites and bringing up a few erotic vore stories she mixed various bits of media to whip up the ache between her thighs to a strain.

First was a classic, at least to her. The rather short, but suggestive story of two high school sweethearts who take the wrong turn and end up at a Home Cumming. The wordplay was silly, but the content of the story wasn't in the slightest. A couple pulled apart by what, in a horror movie, would have been a slasher killer as first the young man and then the young woman were taken with such promising lives ahead of them. Their youthful forms churned away in the ravenous sac of the predator and splashed over the inside of their broken down car.

By the time she'd sped through to the end, hovering on the salient points, Daisy had her pajama pants around her knees, legs slightly spread, and her fingers to her lips again. Wetting the fingers with her tongue she soon slithered them back down to tease herself. Fingertips brushing her eager bud and occasionally venturing further to illicit a peep, she bit her lip to keep herself quiet.

The last thing she wanted was to alert the fucking couple in the next room. Being a voyeur almost seemed worse than being a voraphile.

Daisy hurried to the second, more involving story of a woman and her mother.