Author's Note

I apologize in advance for this.

The Prelewd!

Spitfire got up at seven in the morning, which was two hours later than normal.

It was her day off.

This sort of thing did not come along often; as much as she loved her job, which also happened to be her lifelong passion, it was also an extremely tiring business. But luck would have it that Spitfire still had one day off a week, at least in theory, what with all the exercising and catching-up-on-reading that came with the territory.

But today was truly a day where Spitfire could sit back and have nothing but fun, and it was going to be great.

For the most part.

The faucet in the bathroom kept running as she brushed her teeth. Still looking like a mess, she thought, eyeing her mane as she cleaned her teeth. She had a reputation to uphold, and so she always kept her mane gelled up and back to create that iconic fiery spike when on the job. Outside of that, she couldn't be bothered, but her life as a Wonderbolt had so overtaken everything else over the years that the way her mane looked now—straightened and a bit frazzled—struck her as alien. She was not too much a fan of it.

"Muuuuurgh..." somepony groaned from the bedroom, though Spitfire knew who it was.

"Huh?" she asked, toothbrush in her mouth.

"I wanna die!" the stallion mumbled, groggily.

Soarin, ya goof. "Me too, hon. Me too." She smiled and finished cleaning. What're y'doing being my goof? She took some cold water and wandered over to the bedside where her partner lay, under all those sheets.

Soarin was always a terrible morning pony. Years of waking up before the sun even started its ascent did nothing to mitigate the fact that, given the chance, the stallion would sleep in until around high noon. It was one of those things that sometimes frustrated Spitfire, who had to deal with the whole not-a-morning-pony thing, but like many quirks it was also endearing at other times.

Such as right now, for it was Soarin's birthday.

"Not gonna come out?" Spitfire poked the area where she assumed Soarin's barrel was. "I've got that expensive pancake mix—the really good stuff—and I don't wanna use all of it for myself."

A groan from her partner, but he wasn't giving her anything else.

"Buuuuuuuuut..." She pretended to be walking out of the room. "You'd only have yourself to blame if ya miss out!"

This prompted Soarin to stick his big cow-licked head out from the top of the covers. "I'd like some pancakes, though." He shook his noggin, barely able to open his eyes. "With syrup, and uh..."

"Too late!" She started heading down for the kitchen. "You're not getting pancakes for you birthday!"

Surprisingly, this didn't cause Soarin to do any more than leave himself half-exposed on the bed, still refusing to use his legs. He was like one of those newborn bunnies that could barely move around.

Still not gonna budge, huh? Spitfire leaned back through the doorway and couldn't help but smirk at seeing her stallion in such a compromising position. I can play this game with ya, big boy. Like a giant wild cat about to pounce on its prey she practically crawled toward the foot of the bed and snuck her head under the covers.

It took a moment for Soarin, in his dazed and confused state, to realize that something was brushing up against his hind legs and thighs. "Oh no," he said quietly, and with a hint of joy.

Once Spitfire got all four of her legs on the bed, she knew she was good to go. Now I just have to worry about the possibility of him kicking me by accident. Not that Soarin ever did such a thing; not in several years, anyway. Little morning sessions like this were a lot messier and ultimately unsatisfying when the two were much younger, back when they had first started dating.

It was somewhat hard to see what she was doing under all these sheets, but it didn't take too long for Spitfire to find what she was looking for. Just from the feel of it she could tell Soarin's cock was already a tad erect, having come out of its sheath. You naughty colt, getting hard before I could tell you to, she thought cheekily. You're totally getting reprimanded for this. Still, she couldn't help but feel slightly excited when she stuck out her tongue and licked at what she found to be the underside of her partner's shaft.

Those first tiny licks and flicks of the tongue always got Soarin going the fastest, and he emitted a small moan from his lips as Spitfire teased his thickening penis without mercy. "Oh, come on...!" He pushed the top of the covers away from him, revealing more of Spitfire's head and head-giving underneath. "This isn't fair, Spitty!"

It was too late to go back by this point, though; Soarin's cock had become deliciously erect, and also shiny from Spitfire's saliva all over it.

Except for the head. Uh oh.

Spitfire stopped and looked up at Soarin, the hairs of her mane partly covering her eyes. "Are you complaining to me, or are ya gonna take your punishment like a good Wonderbolt?" She exhaled deeply around Soarin's shaft, making it tingle and twitch in its hunger.

"I'll be..." Soarin breathed in, trying to calm himself. "I'll be good. I swear."

"That's a good birthday colt." Spitfire gave the length of her stallion's member a few loving kisses. "I'm not gonna go too hard on ya here; I want you in tip-top shape for after we come back from dinner." Now that's where the real fun begins, she thought. This is just an appetizer.

"Wait," Soarin uttered. "'Birthday colt'? I'm turning thirty-three toda—ffffffffffuh!" He got ambushed by the sensation of Spitfire's lips enveloping the bulbous tip of his cock in a swift motion, and before he even knew what hit him she had taken all of his head in her heated mouth.

Keeping her stallion's hind legs far enough apart, Spitfire took to lowering her head onto the throbbing cock which was already threatening to shoot its milky payload down her throat. Just hold on a little bit for me, she thought as she started to slowly, painstakingly bob her head up and down, gradually taking in a bit more of Soarin's shaft.

The taste of the actual thing wasn't exactly terrible, but it never impressed Spitfire either. In her many years of sexual conquest she got to try out several penises, and they all vaguely reminded her of a certain type of candy which was bitter but not too hard to chew.

Even so, getting these kinds of sounds and bodily reactions from them—especially Soarin, for he was so ticklish and lovable in the sack—was priceless. Worth every drop of warm semen.

Soarin's wings expanded and stiffened like crazy as he watched Spitfire suck eagerly on his cock, and both could tell that the session would end soon. In fireworks, to put it one way. "Uh, Spitty?" the stallion asked through his moans and sweat. "You sure you wanna keep going? I m-might come in there. Just—" He couldn't say anything more; he had to shut his eyes and keep them shut, and he pushed the back of his head into his pillow and hoped for the best.

In spite of her partner's warnings, or more likely because of them, Spitfire only continued to work harder to get Soarin to come in her mouth; she bobbed faster, not reckless enough to accidentally take in too much and choke herself but just enough to really mix her saliva with the precum that had started leaking from her partner's tip.

Then came the explosion.

The first shot of semen to hit Spitfire's throat never failed to take her by surprise, if only because it always seemed to be the strongest shot. She was a trained flyer, though, having gone through a great deal of pain in her life, and so getting her throat and mouth caked with hot jism was by no means the most unpleasant thing she had experienced. She never swallowed all of it anyway, and the image of some excess cum dribbling from of her lips—either those of her mouth or her pussy—was a surefire turn-on.

By the end of Soarin's orgasm, which went off like a machine gun, a lot of his cum had dripped onto his cock and testicles, almost reaching his taint, and Spitfire appeared even more sexily disheveled now, strands of mane across her face and some cooled semen covering her lips and chin.

It was nothing compared to what would come much later.

"I need to brush my teeth again," she said cheekily. "And also a shower."

"Sounds pretty good to me!" said Soarin, a little out of breath, and he sat up to a degree and caressed Spitfire's cheek with a forehoof.

Yeah, a shower together sounded pretty good.