Monstrous Ranch Ch. 03

The more I learn of Ambrosia Ranch, Anya, the more I think I should regret. I don't know what I've gotten myself into. I should be terrified. I should be looking for a way out. But I can't shake this feeling... I think there's a part of me that thinks this might finally be something worthwhile I can do with my life.

And part of me is terrified of that other part of me.

Is this making sense? Probably not. Well, the good news is, I'm not going to be lonely. Nor will insomnia be an issue, I don't think. Nor am I likely to go hungry.

As I said before, I fear that I may be involved in something... well, evil. But these creatures are clearly dangerous, just as the hob said. Some of these women—these creatures seem harmless. Kind, even. Simple, often. But they are anything but.

Or maybe I'm simple for falling for them. Or a bit, heh, 'woolly-headed'.

*****

"Where are we going?" Senya asked. The hob had led him off of the entrance path and into the fields. Now he could view a little bit more of the ranch, though the hedges and fences still made it hard to see too far. He could see the great orchard he'd spotted earlier, and further off, he could again see the fields of what seemed to be grapevines. And there was the old barn.

"To check on the sheep," Bobbin chirped. "They're easy-going. Lazy. Should be as good an introduction as any."

"Do...do you keep them in the barn?" Senya asked uncertainly. What did 'sheep' mean in this case? He'd already experienced what a 'cat' was around here.

"Oh, no." Bobbin took a sharp left, and Senya hurried after. Were they just heading to the back of the farmhouse? "We only keep one tenant in there."

Why didn't we just go through the farmhouse? he wondered. His curiosity was immediately answered by a hoarse squeal from the building, reminding him of Valina and Jerrod.

"So wh... whuh." Senya trailed off as they rounded the corner.

Built against the back of the farmhouse was a small pen. The fence wasn't tall—it was a basic wood fence, about the height of his chest, if that. The gate was a simple construction with a simple set of silver latches. Three in total, he noted. Aside from the silver, the pen was exceedingly mundane.

But inside the pen were four decidedly non-mundane women.

At first glance, they looked like human women. Yes, human women with impossibly perfect bodies and very curious costumes, but women, nonetheless. That was the first thing his cock acknowledged, anyways, because he could already feel it purring its approval.

On closer examination, there was nothing human about them. Each had a pair of curling ram's horns sprouting from her head. Their short platinum-blond hair was incredibly curly, and their arms, hips, breasts and ankles were covered in thick, fluffy wool.

Wool. It was wool. They were... sheep girls.

The four women lounged on the grass, looking utterly exhausted. They had thick, dark lashes, and their eyes were impossibly heavy-lidded—like just opening them enough to look at him and Bobbin was a task of near-overwhelming effort. Two of them lay together, with the back of one's head resting in the other's waist.

Their groins, he noticed with a pang, were not wooly at all. Indeed, their womanhoods were by far the most womanly things about them.

"Hey!" Bobbin barked. "Wake up, you lazies! Say hello to your new Master!"

Slowly, the sheep girls stirred. They looked up at Senya with exhausted smiles. The smiles grew wider, however, as they stared at him. They were positively beatific.

"A new master," breathed one.

"Ooh." The sheep girl whose head rested on another's waist wriggled slightly, beaming at him. "He's so handsome."

Senya jumped slightly as he felt Bobbin pat his ass again. "Go on," Bobbin whispered. "Say hi. They're harmless—they can't get past the fence, anyway."

Senya took a hesitant step forward. In truth, he was less concerned about these languid creatures hurting him than he was about his erection getting more easy to spot. "Wh-what are they?" he whispered back.

"Fleece sprites. Sleepy little darlings." The straw boss winked. "Just go say hello! They don't bite. Not even if you ask nicely." She seemed to pout slightly. Senya couldn't tell if she was joking.

He stepped up to the fence and leaned over. "Hello," he said politely. The fleece sprites beamed up at him. Was it just him, or were their eyes widening just a little? And were they... looking at his crotch? "My name is Senya. I'll be, erm, running this—"

One of them rose to her feet, and he lost focus of what he was saying. The fleece sprite moved towards him, swaying slightly as if still drunk from sleepiness, and placed her pale hands on the fence. She smiled dreamily at him. "Hi, Senya. I'm Angora. It's a pleasure to...to..." She paused and half-stifled a yawn. "...pleasure," she managed, the dazed smile returning.

She offered her hand to shake.

"S-sure." Senya took her hand. Her wool tickled his hand slightly. It was incredibly soft, and he marveled at the comfort. He could definitely believe that the ranch made a profit selling this wool, if that was what they did. He ran his fingers over the wool in mute wonder.

"Do you wanna...?" She proffered her shoulder for him. Senya blinked. It took him a moment to understand the offer.

"Sure," he heard himself repeat. He reached forward and ran his fingers through the wool. It was so soft. So silky. His fingers were practically buried in the stuff. It felt like being encased in solid clouds.

"Fleece sprites have the softest wool in the world," she murmured. "Do you like it?"

"Yeah," he breathed. He found himself yawning.

She smiled. "Sleepy?"

"A li'l," he said, and yawned again. Damn it. Her yawning was infectious, apparently.

She reached forward and stroked his cheek with her wrist. His eyelids fluttered. His whole head felt pleasantly abuzz, like the misty point between sleep and wakefulness where nothing felt fully real. She leaned forward, stroking the back of his head, and he felt his head drooping, dropping down and down and...

A blissful calm filled him as his cheek brushed her soft, fluffy breast. He let his head rest there, immersed in downy lethargy.

"Sleepy," she cooed sweetly from above him. He felt his eyelids slowly drifting close. "Don't worry. You can nap with us. I'm sleepy too. We can cuddle for...a while."

"Cuddle," he mumbled into her breasts. She was so soft. Cuddling with her had to be the most exquisite thing in the world, and he couldn't think of anything in the world he wanted more. Actually, he couldn't think of anything in the world he wanted at all. He just wanted to lie here in plush bliss. Cuddle with Angora.

She giggled. "Or maybe a bit more than cuddle," she said, and her voice had turned a little coy. He dimly felt her hand brush down his chest, down his belly, and settle at his crotch. He was surprised to feel her hand touch a rock-hard cock. It felt so good when she touched it. He desperately wanted her to touch it more, and he managed a little moan to tell her so.

"So sleepy," the fleece sprite soothed, stroking his hair with her free hand. He felt a smile settle onto his face, feeling perfectly immersed in her soft, luxurious, marvelously feminine body. "Why don't you let me help you in here and we can...?" Her words hung in the air, suggestive and sly, dripping with sensual promise.

"Yeah," he mumbled, after what felt like a minute. "Okay. We can..."

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He didn't so much turn as roll his head, still resting in the fleece sprite's soft breasts, and half-open his eyes. He saw Bobbin looking down at him. She had a wry grin on her face. "Master?"

"Mm?" He gave her a dazed smile as he felt the fleece sprite stroking his hair with one hand. Her other was gently running along his clothed cock, as if reminding him of the pleasure she promised. He felt her wool tickle him through his trousers. "Mm..."

"Best not fall asleep here." She winked. "We'd be here all day."

"Mm." He snuggled deeper into the fleece sprite's breasts, eliciting a little giggle. "Fv mmr mmnts."

He felt the fleece sprite's fingers delicately working the lacing of his trousers.

"Ah, no." To Senya's surprise, he found himself hoisted by the ear out of the fleece sprite's arms. The Hob smirked at him, raising one eyebrow. "I'm allowed to disobey your orders if they're made under the influence, f-y-i."

"Wha...buh..." Senya shook his head. It felt like a fog was slowly lifting from his mind. Like he'd just been yanked out of bed at five in the...

His eyes widened. "Whoa."

"Like I said." Bobbin gestured back toward the pen, where Senya saw Angora lying back in the grass, as docile as could be. She opened one lazy eye and smiled at Senya, and he quickly looked away. "Lazy ladies. Fun to lie with when you have time—though your uncle always preferred pe...livestock easier to control 'during the act'—but we're doing a tour and they eat up time faster than a real sheep eats up grass."

"I...I..." Senya rubbed his eyes. "I was so tired. And...I just wanted to..." Go along with everything she said, his mind finished. He could feel his face reddening.

"Hm." Bobbin crossed her arms. "Their wool is magic. Keeps them in order, more or less, as long as you don't touch it too long. Comfortable as can be, but it sends you to sleep faster than a dissertation on dopterine civil rights." She gave a toothy grin. "Now, what's really interesting is when you shear that wool off. Whole other animal then. A lot more fun to handle."

"Huh." Senya glanced back at the pen again, and he instantly regretted it. Angora had been joined in her slumbers by another fleece sprite, and the two seemed to be very slowly, very gently eating each other out. He felt his cock hardening again at the sight.

"But—" Bobbin poked him in the chest, giving a sly grin. "—it's not shearing day yet, big boy, and we have a tour to get to. C'mon. I need to show you the orchard next." She tugged at his hand, then paused, glancing down toward his tented trousers. "Unless you really need some help down there." The hob licked her lips, then bared her sharp teeth at him.

Senya swallowed. "Uh, no. N-no. I'm fine. Let's go."

"Suit yourself." Bobbin shrugged. "In your own time." She led him away from the slumbering sprites, and off toward a tall circle of apple trees.

What will it be next? Senya wondered. He wasn't sure if his heart was pounding like this out of fear or excitement. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

~~~~

"Bobbin! Bobbin!" Senya turned, as did Bobbin, whose bushy eyebrows furrowed. Senya's heart skipped a beat.

At first, he thought three women were running towards them, and his first thought was, Oh, no, more fey. But as he looked closer, he realized just how wrong that was.

They looked human, to an extent—their faces were human, certainly, and they'd be quite attractive...save for their eyes. In place of eyes, the three creatures just had shiny silver buttons. It was extremely disturbing. They wore baggy, patchy clothes over very thin frames, causing their abnormally large breasts to tent the shirts almost alarmingly. The shirts and pants seemed to have been stuffed with straw to make them fit. Each wore a large straw hat.

They were scarecrows. Sexy, button-eyed scarecrows. With, he noticed, and his heart lurched again, weapons. Each had a sharp-looking scythe strapped to her back.

"What is it?" Bobbin snapped, looking annoyed.

"It's the stockman," the one in the lead said, stopping before the two of them. The three scarecrows bowed. "He is... still fucking the cat. Or... she's fucking him."

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Senya jumped at Bobbin's sudden vitriol. "He's going to overdo it. I keep telling him, a light touch is more effective with catgirls. Dangle balls in front of them and they'll lick; shove 'em in their mouth and they'll bite." She paused, apparently noticing Senya's pale face. "It's a figure of speech," she said. "Normal catgirls don't really care for balls. Now, there are transformation spells—" She stopped herself. "Not the point. Eighteen, why haven't you told him to stop?"

"He won't listen," 'Eighteen' said, pouting. Her movements seemed almost mechanical to Senya. Even her emotions seemed a bit wooden—like exaggerated puppets more than people. But she seemed flesh and blood.

"Of course he won't," Bobbin muttered. "Okay, Master, let's—no, fuck it." She turned to the scarecrow women. "Accompany Senya. He is our new Master, so show him all the respect you showed the last Master. Don't try to fuck him." She stole a smug look at Senya, who felt himself reddening. "He can't help himself."

"Wait, what?" Senya fidgeted. "You're just going to leave me with..." He looked nervously at the three button-eyed girls, who each gave him identical grins.

"Just for a few minutes," Bobbin said, already taking off. "Go check out the orchard! Don't stray! Follow the scarecrow's advice, but don't..." The rest of what she was yelling was lost as she vanished around the side of the farmhouse.

Senya stared after her for a moment. "Great," he said.

A slender, cloth-covered arm wrapped around his, hooking in the crook of his left elbow. "Never fear," said the scarecrow Bobbin had called 'Eighteen'.

"She knows what she's doing," said another, hooking her own arm into his right arm before he knew what was happening. The pair started to march him along. "We'll show you away."

Senya audibly gulped.

~~~~

Their 'names', as it turned out, were Eighteen, Seven and Twelve. There were nineteen of the scarecrows in total on Ambrosia Ranch—at least, that was what they told him. True to Bobbin's order, they had refrained from coming onto him, though just being sandwiched and held between two of them was a bit difficult to take right now.

"Where do you come from?" he asked, as they led him up a steep pebble path.

"We are part of this place," Eighteen said happily. Her long, curly straw-blonde hair bounced slightly as she walked. "Oh, mind your step."

"Why?" Senya examined the path ahead. The path was steep, but it looked solid. "Is it unstable?"

"Oh, no." Seven giggled. Still holding his arm captive, she raised it to point at a shrub next to the path. "That's a special rosebush. She's, uh, tricky."

Senya eyed it skeptically, but kept his distance as he walked around it. "'She'?" he asked Eighteen, who was by far the most helpful of the three so far.

"A rose hamadryad," Eighteen said, giving the rosebush a sly grin. "She doesn't show herself often. Very shy."

As Senya passed by, he noticed some of the brambles starting to stir. The scarecrows quickened their pace, gathering tightly around him in a sort of protective phalanx. Their straw scratched and tickled against his skin.

"Is she..." He swallowed. "Controlled?"

"A funny thing," Seven said. "'Control'. Such a funny thing."

"It is meddlesome," Twelve said. "And ever-so-bothersome."

"The Ambrosia Ranch currently stands without a Master," Eighteen said. She cast Senya a strange look. "Until you have completed the process, all the fey here are in desperate want of discipline. They can resist us."

Senya stared at her button eyes. Her eyebrows and dimples were quite expressive, and right now, she looked either wistful or weary. "And what about you?"

"Bobbin—" Eighteen began.

"Eighteen," Seven said warningly.

Eighteen stopped, wincing. Senya frowned. He got the sense Eighteen had been about to say something helpful. "We... obey the one who keeps our magic," she said, smiling again. "You are our Master."

She leaned close and planted a little peck on his cheek.

"Eighteen," whined Seven. She didn't just sound disapproving—she sounded a bit jealous.

"What?" Eighteen laughed, pulling away from Senya's burning face. "That wasn't trying to fuck him! It was just a little affection!"

They were silent for a moment. Eighteen and Seven carefully steered Senya around a small tree with a large hornet nest hanging from its branch. Senya didn't ask about that.

"You know," Seven mused, "there's a lot of definitions of 'fuck'."

"That is true," Twelve said, nodding thoughtfully.

Senya looked between them nervously.

"Who can say which one the straw boss meant?" Seven asked.

"I think we know which one she meant," Eighteen said, frowning.

"Weell..." Senya gave a start as he felt Seven's fingers brushing over his crotch. "He is hard. Don't you want to feel it, Eighteen?"

"Hey!" Senya protested. They ignored him.

Eighteen hesitated. "We shouldn't."

"He's so hard, Eighteen," Seven cooed. "You know he wants it."

"A blowjob isn't fucking him," Twelve murmured. "Just imagine that big, hard, throbbing dick sliding between your lips."

Eighteen was starting to pant. Senya felt her squeezing his arm tightly. "I shouldn't," she said, but the conviction was fading fast.

"Wow!" Senya exclaimed loudly. "What a surprise! We're here already!" They came to a halt before the orchard. He flashed a wide, manic grin at his three escorts. "Doesn't time fly in good company? Guess we'd better check out the orchard, just like Bobbin said."

Eighteen looked equal parts relieved and disappointed. Twelve and Seven just pouted and sulked.

Senya looked up at the tall fruit trees. The fruits in the branches ranged from hot pink to pinkish-green in color. They looked somewhat like tomatoes or peaches, with shiny, translucent skin that seemed to glisten with moisture.

"What are those?" he asked, licking his lips. He hadn't eaten anything since they'd arrived here, he realized. "They look delicious."

"They are," Eighteen said, recovering her professionalism. She tugged Senya along. "They're prisoner fruits. You can try one if you like, but you might... regret it."

"You didn't have to tell him that," Seven whined.

"Why would I regret it?" Senya asked. "And why are they called 'prisoner fruit'?"

The scarecrows only giggled at this, exchanging knowing looks. Even Eighteen seemed content to leave him wondering, which filled Herne with a certain conviction: It was not a good idea to eat the fruits.

Not on the first day, anyways.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Seven giggled, tugging on his arm. "Let's go in!"

Uncertainly, almost unwillingly, Senya made his way into the orchard.

It took him a moment to recognize that the orchard was not simply circular—it was a spiral. The trees grew tightly, and were interspersed here and there by curious rosebushes that prevented much vision beyond the rows—and forced the visitor to travel down the spiraling path presented toward the center. The rosebushes all had bright red buds, but none had yet opened.

"What are those?" he asked, wondering if he would again regret it.

"Ooh." Eighteen glanced over and smiled coyly. "Whorelip. Specially imported."

"They're not in season yet, though," Seven said. "Not for several months still. Still, best not go too close. They... have their own meddlesome agenda. Your thrice-great uncle's son planted them. A most unwise young man, who never did get to inherit much of anything. Best go around, Master."

Senya obeyed. Something in Seven's tone told him even she wasn't fully comfortable with the 'whorelip' plants.

As they walked, Senya gradually came to notice that the fruits were getting riper and riper the closer they got to the center. It was as though the soil was getting richer and richer, allowing the trees to produce more numerous, and more delicious, morsels. By the time they were on the final loop, the fruits were sunset red and positively bursting with juice. His mouth watered at the sight.