The Fillies of Three Ferns Farm by Andrea Forsythe

Amy blinked as she was turned out into a little paddock. The woman who waited for her smiled. She was a middle-aged but very attractive and fit woman with deeply tanned skin (no tan lines) and beautiful long, platinum blonde hair. She was also completely nude except for a rope halter, and she wore a long horse tail the exact same color as her hair.
    She was also naked.
    “ So,” she asked casually. “What is your show name?”
    Amy looked down shyly, not wanting to be caught looking at the woman’s nakedness. The stranger was a mature woman, Amy estimated her to be around forty, but her small tits were so flawless and perky. Amy couldn’t stop herself from staring. “It's 'Sweet Caroline'.”
    “ Oh wow! I like that!” she said enthusiastically. “And your barn name?”
    Amy resisted the urge to touch the rope halter she wore for the hundredth time. “Sweetie.”
    “ My show name is All that Glitters, but you can call me ‘Goldie,’” she said with a giggle. “Show names have to be my third or fourth favorite thing about this whole thing. The puns are incredible!”
    Amy nodded. Her mind was still reeling from the morning. She waited for months for her first retreat at Three Ferns Farm, a privately owned haven for ponyplayers the world over. When she arrived at the greeting center, she had been gently asked to shed her clothing, given a simple rope halter, and transported the rest of the way to the barns in the back of a horse trailer along with six other human equines. Some of them were bewildered new arrivals like herself but others were clearly returning, and they looked excitedly out of the slits in the trailer for familiar sights and faces. The ponies and horses divided, newbies being led in one direction and the more experienced members being taken directly to the stables. “Have... you come to a retreat before?” Amy asked, trying to make conversation.
    “ Oh lord yes, Dear. I'm a broodmare! Here at Three Ferns, the broodmares often act as unofficial den mothers and very official greeters. You've been paired with me for your orientation.”
    “ Oh,” said Amy, who was very much in need of orientation. “So... how does this all... work?”
    Goldie smiled and patted her on the shoulder. “That's a bit of a big order all at once. Let's get specific about you first, then I can tell you more about what your personal experience might be like and we'll start from there. The main goal here is to accommodate everyone as best we can and make sure all our human ponies and horses are well taken care of. Do you remember filling out all those forms when you registered?” Amy nodded. “Good. Well those forms have been turned into a document called your 'papers'. They're just as important as a bio- that is a 'real'- horse's registration papers. They tell all about you: what breed you are, your show and barn name, what kind of play you enjoy, whether you will accept men or women trainers or both, and your safe word. Every single trainer, groomer, or potential owner who interacts with you will see your papers. You with me so far?”
    Amy nodded again, trying to remember all the answers she had given to the seemingly endless parade of questions she had answered as part of the registration process. “I think so,” she said slowly. “I put that I was a pony... a bay Fell pony.” She got a wistful look in her eye. “My uncle kept Fell ponies, and I always pretended I was one when I was a little girl.”
    Goldie grinned and started walking the perimeter of the paddock, continuing their conversation as they ambled along the fence line. “You'd be surprised how many of us got started that way. For some folks, the urge to play horsie just grows up when we do. I'm a quarter horse myself. A palomino.” She tossed her long platinum hair and Amy admired it openly.
    “ You look like a palomino,” she said, impressed.
    “ And I see the bay in you,” Goldie said gently. Oddly, this statement filled Amy with a warm