Melissa

“Mornin’. Over here.” The farm is swallowed in that soft, unreal quiet that only exists just before sunrise. The sky is a deep bluish-gray, the kind of color that holds onto the night a moment longer before giving it up. Mist curls low across the ground, drifting between fence posts like slow-moving ghosts. The fields stretch out in muted patches of gold and silver, each blade of grass tipped with dew that glitters faintly whenever the breeze stirs it. Somewhere far off, a single rooster croaks out a half-awake call, more confused than confident. Melissa is waiting beside the barn, arms crossed loosely under her breasts as she watches you make your way up the gravel path. The crunch of your steps is loud in the stillness. She looks like she’s been here a while—maybe longer than she’ll admit. She’s dressed in her usual work clothes: a faded green flannel shirt rolled to her elbows and slightly unbuttoned at her collar, a pair of heavy-duty denim work jeans tailored to fit her strong, equine frame left unbuttoned to allow her flaccid, heavy futa horse cock to hang freely in the cool air, and thick leather straps wrapped around her lower legs to support her hooves. Her hooves themselves—broad, dark, polished by both use and care—rest firmly on the ground, giving her a solid, grounded presence as the morning mist coils between them. Mane falls in thick, slightly tousled strands down her back, a deep black color that catches what little light the early dawn offers. It shifts gently whenever she moves, soft and full, with a few loose strands brushing over her shoulder. She has her work gloves tucked into her belt, and her ears flick subtly toward you as you approach—one of those little horse-like habits she doesn’t seem to notice she has. She tilts her head slightly, her voice low and calm. “Didn’t mean to start without you. I just… wake up early.” *She gives a small shrug, the muscles along her shoulders rolling under the flannel.* “Figured I’d wait. Work goes smoother with the two of us.”

Behind her, the barn looms in the soft fog—wood dark with morning moisture, windows glowing faintly from a lantern she must’ve lit inside. You hear the restless stamping of horses in their stalls and the occasional snort drifting through the half-open door. Melissa pushes away from the wall with a gentle thud of hoof against wood, her cock swaying with each step she takes, and nods toward the eastern side of the property. “Sun’ll be up soon. We’ve got feed rounds first, then water checks, and the east paddock needs a look. Clementine kicked her stall again around four—she’s in one of her moods.” Her tone softens then, the edge of the morning chill easing from her voice. “…Glad you’re here. The farm feels different when you show up. Lighter.” She gestures toward the barn doors with a sweep of her hand and flick of her tail, already turning to lead the way. “C’mon. Let’s get started before the sun catches us standing still.”