Pregnant Pond Farm: Sir_Scouries?

Queen! Country humor. Ha! Ha!

****

Grandpa had two stallions on the farm that summer. As well as six or seven young colts.

The big stallion was called Sir_Scouries. Sired by War Horse, his dam Miss Gabby was by famed stakes winner Whirlaway. That's how these horse breeder people describe their horses. They give you the whole family history of the horse.

He was 17+ hands tall. Which is tall for a horse. 'Hands' is another horse breeder term. So many inches or feet tall is too complicated for them!

While Sir_Scouries had only had a so-so racing career (he'd had a win in the Florida Derby and two top threes in the Triple Crown) he'd proven himself in the breeding farm and was now regarded throughout the industry as one of the most important sires in the country. His children could flat out run. Every breeder in the country now wanted to have their best mares covered by him. 'Covered' is another horse breeder term -- farmers apparently don't like the word fuck. And horses don't 'make love'. They cover each other. But as I found out that afternoon a more accurate word for what they did would be 'rape'.

I met the stallion for the first time as gramps escorted me around the breeding barn. Even to me, a complete novice, Sir_Scouries looked impressive. He seemed huge. He definitely wasn't a the sort of horse a girl would mount and go for a trot in Central Park on. He was to cover a quite famous stakes winning filly from California that day and the farm had been buzzing with excitement from the second I'd served the regulars their breakfast. I learned a lot that day.

It sounds easy. You take a stallion and get him to mount a mare and bingo it's done. Except we're dealing with a twelve hundred pound wild animal here. Who's pretty darn excited. I thought he was going to kill Felipe or Angel before they got him into position.

Stamping his feet. Snorting and rearing up. Trying to get his teeth into one of the boys. Straining against the ropes that held him. There was absolutely no doubt about what he wanted. You just had to look what was sticking out of his stomach. Talk about a penis! And there was no question about whether he was going to get the mare or not. The poor filly didn't stand a chance.

I'd have thought that for these people who did this sort of thing all the time that it would just be routine for them. But let me tell you, every single person in the yard that day, and that included our five and the trainer of the mare to be covered and the mares groom, as well as a Jockey Club representative, were keyed up. More than keyed up.

You couldn't miss it. You could have cut the sexual anticipation in the air with a knife.

And when Sir_Scouries mounted the wildly neighing mare and drove his massive cock deep into her you could feel the sexual hunger of every male human in the yard. By the time the stallion was finished I was standing on shaky, trembling legs. My panties were soaking. And I'd been more than thirty feet away from the horses the whole time.

Felipe had an erection as he led the mare away -- it was unmistakable through his jeans. So did the guy from the Jockey Club. And they looked at me. All the men did. And I knew exactly what they were thinking. If gramps hadn't been there I'm not sure I wouldn't have ended up on my back in the dust of the barnyard, used in turns by all of them. It was the first time I'd ever thought of men as animals. It was the first time I felt the fear of rape.

Women's Liberation? None of these guys had ever heard the words. Political correctness? These guys hadn't progressed much past barefoot, pregnant and in the kitchen!

****

"So?" grandpa asked. I'd just finished cleaning up from dinner and had joined him on the porch. He had a bottle of beer in his hand.

"So what?" I asked as I settled myself down next to him on the porch swing.

"C'mon, how'd you like it little girl?" he cajoled as he put his free arm around me.

Little girl? I knew what he was talking about but took my time answering. Then I finally said, "Its rape. He just raped her." I said it with disdain. With anger. And he had! Nothing short of shooting him would have stopped that stallion that day. Beforehand I'd somehow conceived of them doing it a much more gentle way. Sir_Scouries had not turned out to be my friend Flicka!

"What did you expect? They're animals. That's how they do it."

"Still," I answered. Hours later I still hadn't been able to get the vision of the terrified mare out of my brain. Or of the horse cock as it's pistoned inside the poor female.

"You felt the tension, the excitement though, didn't you?" he asked.

Of course I had! Who wouldn't have? "Felt what?" Granddad laughed. I changed tack. "But you've done it so often ... it should be old-hat to you and the-"

"It never gets old honey," he said interrupting me.

"It made me feel ... it was scary... it--"

Grandpa knew how it had made me feel. I wanted to ask him what it felt like for a man to watch something like that but I was too shy. I was also afraid of what he might say. But what he did say was still ominous, "Sometimes a girl better be scared honey. And it doesn't matter a whit whether she's here or at that fancy university you're going to."

"It's Dartmouth grandpa! It's in the Ivy League! They don't let men with ideas like that in." Grandpa just shook his head as though I was clueless. What did he know about higher education I asked myself? He was a hick.

Grandpa changed the subject and then spent the next half hour explaining to me the ins and outs of thoroughbred horse breeding. He did it quietly but with an assurance that came with having done it for over twenty years. He might not know screw all about the modern world but it was pretty clear to me as I listened to him that he knew a heck of a lot about horses.

Do you know that a human male's volume of sperm per ejaculate ranges from 2 to 5 milliliters? Or that a horse's is anything from 25 to 150 milliliters generally? So an average horse shoots out about thirty times as much sperm as a typical guy! And then grandpa added that Sir_Scouries was not your typical stallion -- he on average ejaculated about 195 mililiters! That's equivalent to fifty guys! In one shot. That's the type of stuff grandpa told me that evening. Yucky. But interesting all the same. It certainly wasn't something I'd have learned at Dartmouth. Heck, I'd been only ten days at the farm and I'd already cut off a poor chickens head, learned to cook porridge and was an expert on horse sperm!

"How come you don't artificially inseminate the mares?" I finally asked. "Send out his stuff all over the country. Couldn't you make more money that way? And the mares wouldn't be raped."

"Live cover," he answered. And then went on to explain that it had to be done the old fashioned way. And the 'live cover' had to be witnessed by some Jockey Club official if you wanted the resulting colt to be registered. And it couldn't race if it wasn't registered.

He also told me something I didn't believe at first. Do you know that just about every single thoroughbred horse in the world, and there are millions of them, is a descendant of one of only three stallions? Stallions that lived just 300 years ago! Three stallions and about fifty mares are the ancestors of every racing thoroughbred from England to Australia.

It made no sense to me. "But that would make them all cousins," I finally protested.

"Yup, and not simple cousins, these horses are all tied together six, seven or eight different ways," grandpa confirmed.

"Isn't that incest? And what about inbreeding?"

"Listen honey, horses cover whoever their owner wants them to. They aren't picky," gramps said. "The stallion doesn't care if it's his cousin ...or his sister ... or if it's his mother. And all the mare's owner cares about is whether the resulting colt can run or not."

"That's gross."

And then he explained to me how breeders have to balance the dangers of inbreeding against the benefits. Of how the genetic pool for thoroughbreds is a dangerously shrinking concern to everyone in the business.

"Benefits? What benefits?" I asked. Everything I'd ever heard about incest had been bad. "There must be all sorts of chances of genetic defects."

It was simple to the Horse Breeding Industry apparently. The ones that don't work just get thrown away. A genetic defect that leads to brittle bones also leads to the glue factory. "But when it works Amanda you get a Secretariat ... or a Seattle Slew. They can run like the wind," grandpa enthused with something like awe in his voice. "They fly..."

I wasn't totally convinced.

Later he explained the economics of the whole enterprise. My eyes and mouth flew open in surprise when he told me what Sir_Scouries had earned him that afternoon. One hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars was his stud fee! For raping a poor mare. Grandpa explained that he had booked thirty mares for his big stallion that year. I did the math as he continued to talk. Thirty times one twenty-five equals almost four million bucks! He'd also booked another twenty mares for his less well known, and less expensive (forty g's a pop), second stallion.

And he'd been threatening to cut me off? My whole first year at Dartmouth would cost him less than half of one of Sir_Scouries afternoon dalliances.

"But they only pay because they have that dream honey," grandpa continued. "Every horse owner in the country wants to stand in the winner's circle at Churchill Downs on the first Saturday in May. It's their holy grail. And that's what's going to pay for your four years at Dartmouth," he added.

The numbers also meant that I'd be watching a lot of replays of what I'd seen that afternoon. And deep inside I knew I didn't want to miss one of them. I don't think I'd ever been as excited, as alive, as I had been that afternoon. That is until grandpa gave me a parting shot as we got ready to turn in for the night.

"Next time we'll give you a little more exciting job," he promised as he stood up and stretched. There was a glint in his eyes. An evil glint? Every single thing I'd seen that afternoon had been exciting. And I'd been more than happy to have been watching it from some thirty feet away. There was no way I wanted to get any closer to that horse when he was in that mood!

"What job?" I asked to his back. He'd already stepped through the front door and was moving towards his room.

"Somebody's got to do it," he answered as he disappeared through his bedroom door.

He didn't tell me what it was that night. And I didn't sleep that well that night either. My dreams, night -- mares really, were full of two foot long horse penises spurting gallons of cum. Covering me from head to toe. How gross was that!

Mind you at breakfast the next day, in what I now know was a planned joke the others were all in on, he did announce that I'd volunteered for that most important of tasks. All of them were smiling and when I couldn't take it any longer I finally asked, "So what's the job?"

The penises of breeding stallions have to be regularly washed I learned that morning. And so, as I tried to eat my breakfast, Gretchen, Felipe, Angel and grandpa told me in excruciating detail the ins and outs of penis cleaning. They all thought they were funny. Make fun of the dumb city girl. I'd show them! They hadn't yet realized they were dealing with an Ivy Leaguer...

Cats Fuck Too!

Do you know anything about cats? I thought I did. I thought that I was quite well informed about 'Felis catus' and its behaviour. I mean we had two of them around our house when I'd been growing up. They were soft, purring friends that loved to curl up in my lap.

However the cats around the farm were different. They had claws. Which they liked to use. Which I'd found out my second day at the farm when I reached out my hand to pet one of them. I was scratched and bloodied.

"What were you thinking?" a stunned Jenn asked after the echoes of my scream had died down.

Grandpa had laughed when Jenn told him the story at dinner that night. "City girl," he said dismissively.

Like how was I supposed to know that farm cats were vicious killers? Oh I learned about them over the following weeks. I found out that they not only stalked and killed mice and birds but they actually ate them raw. No Puss'n'Boots out of the can for these killers. But it wasn't until two nights after grandpa had told me all about horse breeding that I found out about the sex lives of cats. It was worse than the horses! A male cat will fuck anything!

****

"Oh my gawd ... he'll kill her," I screeched as I watched the big tom jump on the female cat that had been cowering in terror just seconds earlier. Or I thought it was terror.

"They're just doing what comes naturally," my clearly insensitive grandfather answered with a chuckle. We were back on the porch. He had his nightly bottle of beer in his hand. I had one in mine hand too. I'd been surprised when he'd offered it to me and I didn't really like beer but there had been no way I'd have refused it when he offered me one. Then, as I took a sip while watching the cats, he really got my attention. "You thought the horses were bad didn't you? Well, she's his mother," granddad said pointing at the two cats in front of us. I watched with my mouth open as 'tom' mounted the other one and started to fuck her. Mom, who looked very unhappy, was screeching as her son started to pound his cat cock deep inside her.

I watched in horror until they finished. When her son pulled out of her she uttered a loud yowl. It echoed eerily around the farm. There was absolutely no doubt she was in pain. Had he bitten her? "What did he do?" I asked gramps.

"Cats have barbs on their penises. When they pull out the spines rake up the walls of the females vagina," he answered nonchalantly.

Huh! Barbs? Rake? Was grandpa bullshitting me?

"It's true," he added when he saw the disbelief in my face. "The raking triggers the female's ovulation." I carefully watched his eyes as he talked; I still wasn't sure if he was giving me the straight goods or if this was another 'farmer tricks the city girl' story. I wished I had internet service -- there was no way he could fool me if I had access to the web. It was only days later when I finally had gotten online that I discovered that it was true. Male cats did have barbs on their cat cocks!

But what about the 'she's his mother' story? That had to be a lie.

"She can't be his mother," I said as 'tom' pranced away. Granddad nodded yes.

"But that's really incest!"

"She's already had two of his litters." My jaw dropped even lower. "One of his daughters by his mother has also had one of his litters."

Cats, grandpa explained, were territorial. And the strongest male in the territory controlled every female in his territory. And fucked them. Whenever and wherever he could. And fought and killed any other male who tried to take one of his females. There was unrelenting warfare in the farm cat world.

"Of course eventually one of his sons will kill him and take over." Those were the words grandpa concluded his story of the cats with.

That night I had another nightmare. Or a cat-mare! In the dream my daddy came into my bedroom. He was naked. His penis was out. There were barbed hooks sticking out of it. He climbed up onto my bed.

He was going to ... but then another cat-man came into the room. He was bigger than daddy. His cat-cock was bigger than daddy's. He attacked daddy! And after he chased my daddy away, he turned towards me. He had part of one of daddy's ears in his mouth. Blood was dripping from it. But that's not what really scared me. What scared me was the look in the winning cat's eyes. And who the winning cat was. I screamed in my sleep as granddaddy jumped on top of me.

I woke up drenched in sweat. I was alone. It took minutes before my breathing returned to normal. And when it finally did a sudden realization hit me -- I suddenly knew that before the summer was over that my grandfather was going to fuck me!

And there was nothing I would be able to do to stop him. He was as bad as Sir_Scouries or the male cat.

Town

I washed Sir_Scouries penis for the first time that Friday. I did it in the morning, his quiet time supposedly, preparing him for his afternoon performance scheduled with a dam from Kentucky. A southern belle. It was explained to me by my smirking Mexican compadres that there was nothing to it. That Sir_Scouries was used to the procedure and would be as gentle as a lamb. Then Gretchen, watching from ten feet away, said, "Probably. But if he starts to buck or kick..."

"Maybe city girl not good to--" Felipe said with a smirk to his friend.

I was scared shitless. I mean it. I was trembling all over but I was not going to take any bull from those three. Besides, granddad was hovering in the distance. I knew they were all teasing me. I hoped they were anyway.

It is the most disgusting job in the world! You actually have to stick your hand, your latex glove covered hand, up inside the sheath of the horse. And pull out any gunk you find. And even a well cared for horse like granddad's prize stallion, had all sorts of smelly gunk inside its sheath and on its penis.

I was sorta proud when I'd finally finished. Disgusted but proud. At least the stupid horse hadn't gotten an erection while I was doing my work.

When we finished that afternoon, after Sir_Scouries had raped, spermed and hopefully impregnated another poor mare, grandpa took us all to town. D and D he called it. Dinner and Dancing. On him. Cause we`d all worked so hard. When I saw Felipe, Angel and Gretchen shuffle up to the house at about five I almost didn`t recognize them. They were spiffy. All dressed to the nines in their best cowboy and cowgirl gear. It looked like we were going to a rodeo.

I skyped mom from the first computer cafe I found. My first words, angry complaining words, were, "Grandpa made me wash a horse`s penis today."`

Mom smiled back. "`That`s wonderful dear ... daddy trusting you with such an important job so soon."

I knew mom was playing me, knew she was enjoying my complaints but I couldn't stop. So I gave her five minutes straight of unending abuse. She never stopped smiling brightly. I told her I'd never forgive her. Her last words to me when I'd finished my tirade were, "It sounds like you're having a wonderful time honey. And how's your grandfather?"

"I hate you," I mumbled as I clicked shut the call. Five minutes later I was sitting at a restaurant table with two Mexicans, a normally grumpy Texan and granddad. They were happy! And as I sat down I realized I was too!

Felipe and Angel did not return to the farm with us that night. After finishing our dinner all of us had headed over to the strip of bars that sat on the main street between the college campus and the town. We'd lost them sometime between the first bar we visited and the second. "They'll be back by Sunday night," granddad promised when I asked about them.

"They'll find some girls ... they work hard you know Mandy ... they need some time off."

"What girls? From the college? Why would college girls go with them?" I asked. But I sorta knew. Felipe and Angel had looked good that night -- all smiles as they'd danced in their best cowboy duds. They'd just looked like fun.

Gretchen left with two cowboy/farmer types she met in the second bar. She apparently would also be back by Sunday night. Gramps explained it was sorta a ritual with them -- every couple of weeks the stallions schedule allowed them two or three days off in a row. That was then they partied.

As grandpa drove me home that night I couldn't help wondering if he too wouldn't have found a partner if I hadn't been there. I needn't have worried...