Dirge of the Donkey Farmer (WIP Preview)

WARNING THE FULL STORY WILL CONTAIN: Female Anthro Donkey TF, Weight Gain, Butt Expansion, and Farting

   Creeping her way through the rural countryside in the middle of the night had become second nature to Dalia. Though she had been born in the city, she had grown an appreciation for farm life. While she had initially been content to express her passion through her fashion choices and listening to country music, there was still something missing. She found what she was looking for in the form of an abandoned farmstead that seemed to call out to her.

   Finding a rickety barn, Dalia carefully slipped through an open window to have her boots crunch the ancient straw lining the dirt floor. Reaching into her backpack, she pushed away the few strands of her black, curly hair that had escape her brimmed hat so she could properly set up her lantern. A flick of her match lit up the torch and bathed the barn in light. Soaking in the sight of the barn’s empty stables and feeding troughs, she got ready to take care of the main reason she came here.

   Pulling out her phone, Dalia held the screen up to her face made sure her make up properly accentuated her brown skin. Holding the device out further, she tipped her hat to congratulate herself on the classic combo of a short-sleeved, red flannel shirt mixed with a pair of jean short shorts. With her appearance as perfect as she could have hoped, all that was left was to find a suitable location to take her pictures.

   Once more roaming through the barn, her attention was eventually drawn back towards the stables. While they each held their own rustic charm, there was obvious attention brought towards a singular one. The enclosure was easily twice as large as the rest with a long trough to match. A wooden sign was hung over the stable with the name “Daisy” written across the top in worn out paint. Figuring it was the home of the farm’s former prize horse, Dalia couldn’t think of a better place for her photo op.

   Dragging over a barrel, she placed her phone on it and set it to record. Taking her position in the stable, she used what little light her lantern gave off to fully show off her body in various poses. Every few seconds her phone would take a new picture, ensuring that she would have more than enough material to post to her blog. It was this pleasant thought that kept her from noticing the sound of someone else walking through the barn until it was right next to her.

   A chill going down Dalia’s spine finally got her to stop posing. Clasping her arms together, she looked to see if there was a draft from an open window or something. What she saw instead was an old man with the stereotypical farmer outfit of a set of overalls over a red shirt and wearing a straw hat. Dalia could only stand in stunned silence as the man fixed his glasses as he approached.

   “Who’s there?” the man asked. “I’ll have you know that trespassing on Bevoin property is against the…”

   The man trailed off, fixing his glasses as he got closer to her. “Oh, it’s just you Daisy. Although, I don’t remember you being so skinny. You look on the verge of starvation.”

   Dalia remained silent, not knowing whether to play along or make a break for the window at the nearest opportunity.

   “Don’t worry girl,” he said, hobbling over to the trough. “I’ll make sure you’re good and fed.”

   Considering the way Farmer Bevoin moved around, Dalia wasn’t sure what he was trying to accomplish. Grasping the edge of an old barrel, he rolled it over to the trough and tugged at its cover. Through his constant struggling, he managed to open up the container to unleash a torrent of mystery liquid. Daring to peek into the trough, she was surprised to see a relatively fresh looking slurry of hay mixed with a variety of vegetable chunks. Looking back at the ancient looking barrel, she pondered just how effective farming pickling techniques had become.

   “Is something wrong, Daisy?” Bevoin asked as the last of the mixture poured out into the trough. “You usually don’t wait this long to dig in.” Grasping a handful of the food, he held it up to Dalia’s face. “Here you girl. It’s your favorite. Even laced it with sugar and fiber pellets just the way you like.”

   On reaction, Dalia opened up her mouth to say no thank you. While she managed to stop herself from speaking, the act still left her lips parted wide enough for the farmer to shove the mix down her throat. As to be expected of food intended for livestock, the taste was dreadful. However, there was little Dalia could do to stop it as Bevoin shoved another glob of hay and veggies into her mouth.

   “There we go, right as rain,” Bevoin commented as he continued to shovel food into Dalia’s mouth. “Oh, how terrible of me to forget. You must be pretty parched too.” Stuffing one more handful of hay into her mouth, he mercifully turned away to grab a bucket. “Just stay there and eat like a good girl. I’ll get you the water you need. Gonna make sure you win the blue ribbon of 1957 to go along with the others.”

   Watching the very senile man go about his business, Dalia forced herself to swallow the lump in her throat before moving away. Dashing out of the stable, she nearly made it to the window only to realize something was missing. Turning on her heels, she looked back to see her phone sitting on the barrel snapping pics of the farmer as he poured water into a second trough. Unwilling to leave the barn without salvaging some pictures, she tried to sneak back to retrieve it.

   Dalia’s stealth attempt was foiled as her legs began to feel like jelly. Tripping over her own feet, she got a mouthful of dirt as she hit the ground. Spitting out the ancient hay, she rolled herself over to see if she might have tripped on an old bucket or something. What she saw instead were the tattered remains of her boots scattered across the ground. Only now feeling a slight breeze against her shin, she looked down her legs to see that she had gained something in return for her lost shoes.