I Can't Sleep

by anonpencil

Rating: mature
Tags: Romance, Sex, Berry Punch, Dark, Human, Anon, Porn, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 8005

Berry Punch can't sleep. She can't stop thinking, and worrying, and fretting over everything going on in her life. But maybe her lover can help put her to bed...

Sometimes the brain is a weird thing. It's supposed to know how to sleep, but maybe it just forgets on certain dark and thoughtful nights. It is on just such a night that Berry Punch paces her home, unable to get to bed. Luckily, there's one other person in that house with her who might have a solution to her insomnia.
A solution which is quite pleasurable to both of them.

This story is part of the Broken Love series, but you do not need to read the other parts to "enjoy" this one. ;)

WARNING: Contains consensual straight sex, brief discussions of sickness and dying, discussions on addiction, a pony wearing human underwear, and the name Anon.

Cover art by kinkypinkie. Will take down if requested.

Published 2019-05-09 20:50:02 UTC
Last updated 2019-05-09 20:50:02 UTC

Nothing Really Mattress

~*~

It’s hard to admit when my lack of sleep is my own fault. So often, it’s easy to just point blame at my sickness or my body or any of countless outside influences, such as the human space-heater who sleeps next to me every night. But sometimes, I know that it’s completely me, my brain, and my unwillingness to just let everything go that keeps me tossing and turning. Tonight is one of those nights.

True, Anon is particularly warm next to me tonight, and the wind is noisy, and the room feels clammy with the first rain of autumn still fresh on the earth outside. But what’s swirling around in my head is a restlessness. I feel unsettled, like there is something I should be doing, somewhere I should be going. It’s a stir crazy sort of feeling. Like I’ve suddenly realized I’m caged and need to escape. Now.

I know that doesn’t make any sense in a lot of ways, but it makes sense in one. I know I am running out of of time. I am finite, limited, and even sleeping right now feels like a waste. There’s some other way I could be living my life to the fullest right now. Before it’s too late. Sure I could try to let that go and sleep, it would be the smartest thing I could do. But I’m not always the smartest mare, and tonight I’m okay with that.

So, yeah, it’s definitely my own fault this time.

Feeling that, at this point, I’d better do something productive or else I’ll never feel like I have earned my rest, I carefully sit up in bed. Anon worries about me when I don’t sleep, and the last thing I want to do is jeopardize his health as well as mine by keeping him up all night. So, I move very slowly as I shift away from his curled, welcoming, but practically roasting back, and slide my hooves to the floor.

I can practically hear my joints creaking from tiredness and degradation as I ease my weight down, and the restless feeling in me grows with the sensation. Not sure what I’ll be doing tonight, but I’ve got to do something. I pause for a moment to see if Anon is shifting in his sleep, but he stays motionless.

The breeze from the open window sweeps in, and now that I’m no longer guarded by blankets, I shiver from it. It’s not super cold, but enough that I wouldn’t mind some small protection from the elements. Especially for my softer bits. I scan the floor and grab the first thing I see, hoping it’s a shirt or something of Anon’s I can wear. Instead it’s… boxers.

Well. Okay. Not what I wanted but it could still probably do the trick. I give a quick sniff test and find them… unobjectionable at least. I carefully step through the legs with the boxers facing backwards so that I can slip my tail through the hole where Anon’s dick would usually go. It works well enough, but I know he’d probably laugh at me for it, and never let me live it down. Luckily, as I again look over my shoulder at him, I find that his position hasn’t changed.

With a silent sigh of relief, I move deftly towards the bedroom door, open it gingerly, then close it with a very soft ‘click’ behind me.

“Sleep well, my love,” I whisper with a smirk to the crack of the closed door.

Say what you like about this wonky body, but at least it still knows how to move in stealth mode. I can at least be a little proud of that.

Letting my shoulders achingly relax, I walk more normally out to the dark kitchen. I know how sensitive Anon is to light, so I only leave one living room lamp on as I pull up a chair to the kitchen counter and stare down at a pad of paper left there from the day before. I’d been making a grocery list, but now I feel like a different list is appropriate. A to-do list of grander proportions. I can manage that this evening, and maybe that will satisfy my wanderlust.

As I pick up the pencil I’d left there from before, the ideas come forward easily. I want to go back to the zoo, make sure my will contains some money for the bat exhibit and the otters. I want to visit a few other countries, if I can afford it. See some of the sights in Saddle Arabia, tour the ancient palaces in South Americanter, have stinky cheese in Prance. I want to learn to play the Violin again, just enough to play a select few classical songs I fell in love with during childhood, and have since forgotten how to play. I want to dye my mane a bright color. What’s the worst that could happen, someone won’t hire me? That’s already a problem with how many sick days I’m forced to take, so that would be nothing new.

Over and over again, my pencil moves. Line after line sprawls out ahead of me like a winding road map to parts of me I think I had forgotten. In the low light I spin near-impossible wishes into a long tapestry of things I know I may never be able to grasp. Writing them down at first feels nice, right even. Like this is something I should have done a long time ago. But then…

I pause for a moment. With my inertia gone, I'm suddenly I’m hit with a sucker punch of feelings.

“There’s… too much,” I say at last in a forlorn murmur. “There’s just too much.”

I stare down at the paper in muted horror. I haven’t even written down anything about starting a family, which I know is impossible now. I haven’t mentioned creating some piece of art that will outlive me in fame, give me my only possible immortality. There are still more things I want, and even just looking at the tangible ones, I suddenly feel overwhelmed.

This was a mistake. I collected bricks and built a structure in front of me that I thought would be a bridge, but now I see it’s just a wall.

Another fucking stupid mistake, trying to make myself something I can hold in my hooves that validates my existence and struggle. Now I just feel… hopeless. There isn't enough time. Why try? Why give myself goals I’ll never achieve? Why fight for anything other than what I have right now?

I like what I have now so… why does this feel so much like a loss?

“Damn it,” I whisper at the paper. Then, all at once, far too forcefully, I bang my hoof down hard against the paper on the counter. “DAMN IT.”

As if somehow sensing my impotent rage, the lamp in the living room makes a strange buzzing noise, then an abrupt ‘POP.’ Already filled with a small rush of adrenaline, I let out a tiny, dog-like yelp at the noise, and instantly clap my hooves over my mouth as if trying to cram the sound back in. Then all at once I’m plunged into nearly complete darkness, with the oven clock the only light nearby.

Well fuck. Thanks for that, lamp. Definitely the kind of comfort I needed right now.

My eyes slowly begin to adjust to the darkness a little, and I can sort of make out the shapes of the counter, my own forelegs, the oven, sink, and other silhouettes in the kitchen. My breathing is still loud, and it sounds even louder still for some reason now that there’s darkness around me.

“Damn it,” I say once more, to the darkness this time

I stand up to feel along the counters, searching for a drawer I have not opened since the last power outage. My hooves fumble with the handle when I find it, but as I reach in I easily locate the tall thick red candle I keep in there for special occasions or emergencies. I feel a brief tightening of relief in my chest. I’m not exactly afraid of the dark, but for some reason this time it felt almost… oppressive. Definitely just my mind playing tricks on me.

It’s the work of only a moment more to find the book of matches, strike one, and light the candle. I cup my hoof to the side of the flame as it flickers, then grows as the wax near the top begins to turn into semi-transparent liquid. The flame isn’t very bright, but it’s enough that I can see a little better, and I hold it up as I look around. Now, maybe get to a different lamp or…

I let out a sudden muffled cry of pain and almost drop the candle in my hooves. I look down to see a line of wax dripping down from the outside and pooling where my fur meets the base of the candle. Okay, change of plans, find something to put this in first, then turn on at least one other light.

Being careful not to tilt the candle too much, I pull open other drawers and open other cabinets, but I seem to have no candle holders anywhere anymore. I could have sworn I had some, but nope! No luck. Maybe I regifted them or something when I was short on cash, but either way I curse myself for my short-sightedness and then look for something, anything I can put this damn candle in. I could really use a break right now, oh powers that be. Something, anything would be great right about now.

Much to my surprise, and perhaps in answer to my sarcastic prayer, as I reach into the back of a cupboard, my hoof meets cool, sloping glass that some primal part of my brain instantly recognizes. That’s… a wine bottle?

Almost reverently, I pull the object out of the back and look at it in the low light. Yep, that’s a bottle of cabernet, at least eight years old by the look of it. I must have missed it when I purged the place of booze a few years back, trying to cut out my favorite vice entirely to give myself as much time as possible. The voice in the back of my head, usually silent, pipes up loudly in a cry for glasses, cheese, bread, a warm bath, and a bottle of wine to drink completely in the next hour. My mouth salivates just from the thought, and I swallow hard to try to silence it, but it persists.

It's been so long since they've spoken to me, but I still recognize the sound of their voices. If temptation, lies, and seduction had a single voice, this is what it would be. And right now it's saying one word: Drink.

“Shut up,” I hiss out loud at the voices. “I don’t drink anymore.”

But you could. After all, what are you saving yourself from? You’re dying, Berry. Live a little in the meantime, that was the whole point of the list, right? That you didn’t want to waste time? Well, this solves both your problems, doesn’t it? It shortens the wait time, and it lets you have fun. Life should be fun, Berry. You cheated a few times in the beginning of your sobriety. Wasn’t it fun then too?

“Shut. Up.”

What’s this stuff going to do, kill you? It’s already done that, right? You know what they say, if you can’t beat ‘em…

I stand very still, not caring as another spike of pain rolls across my clenched hoof from dripping wax. I can’t hear my breath now. I can’t hear anything now. All I can feel is that hopelessness. That resignation. That feeling of being stuck, restless, unable to do anything productive, that time is ticking away. Faster. And faster still. I shouldn’t even be here now. And that wine… it’s even a good year.

Maybe. Just a sip. A glass. Half a bottle.

Maybe it’s okay just this once.

Maybe…

I slowly move to the drawer next to the sink, and fish out a corkscrew. With trembling hooves, I insert the tip into the cork, turn it, enjoying far too much the squeak it makes as it inches deeper and deeper. I pull the cork back and feel a tingling up my neck at the sound the cork makes as it pops free. Then, there’s the deep, oaky wood smell, the tartness of the fruit, the mustiness of the tannins. I can hear the wine moving inside the bottle, as if it’s magically alive.

Then, I turn mechanically a little to the left, lift the bottle of wine, and pour it into the sink.

I feel a voice in my throat and mind screaming at me, but the sound of the liquid rushing against the drain is louder. It feels like I’d had a knife stabbed in somewhere near my diaphragm, and with each glug that gushes out, it pulls back a little more. It hurts but I know that in a few more moments, I’ll be free.

After what feels like hours, the wine stops flowing, and the soft pat of drips hitting the sink cease. I know I’ve done something right here. Maybe even something brave. Why, then, does it feel so shitty? Even if I can put the candle in the bottle, do something useful with it, why do I still feel so weak?

“Fuck you,” I say to no one in particular. Maybe to myself.

And as if in answer to my jab, I hear the creak and whine of the bedroom door opening. Then, the footfalls of what I know has to be a human.

~*~

Tired Of This Sheet

~*~

I turn from my place by the sink, and by the soft glow of the candle, I see Anon standing there in the doorway, scratching the back of his head. He stares at me, blinking, obviously confused, and I stare back in silence, unsure what to say. At last, thankfully, he’s the one to break the silence.

“Berry, what are you doing? Do you even know what time it is?” he says groggily, not seeming angry but definitely still semi-conscious. “I heard a bunch of weird noises, and you’re out here in the dark with a candle so…”

In the gleam of the candle-light off of his eyes, I see his gaze move away from my face, down my outstretched hoof, to find the bottle of wine. Like a slingshot, his eyes dart back to my face, and now I see a series of emotions wash over him. He’s shocked, then confused, then angry, then confused again, then… maybe sad? Or worse, disappointed. I try to force my mouth to work, to explain, but it just moves up and down in silence.

He walks swiftly towards me, then reaches out to take the bottle from my grasp. I let him do it, and as he lifts it, feels how light it is, the expression on his face gets darker.

“Berry,” he says, his words a breathy whisper. “What did you do? Are you… did you… are you drunk?”

“N-no!” I finally manage to force out. “I swear!”

“This bottle is empty.”

His voice is cold. An accusation. A reprimand. All in just four words.

“Because I poured it out!” I almost shout now, desperate. “I promise you, I didn’t drink a drop! I wouldn’t!”

“Look,” he says patiently, setting the bottle down on the counter. “I know you’ve had a hard time lately with everything, but if you promise me, honestly, that you didn’t have a drink-”

“I do! I wouldn’t do that to myself, not again!”

“-then I believe you.”

We lapse back into silence. I’m panting, like I’ve just completed some form of vigorous exercise, and my shoulders are still shaking. I want to be mad at him. I want to be angry he even suspected me, even just for a moment. But I also have to remind myself that addicts lie. They make excuses. They play tricks, and hide, and sneak, and pretend everything is fine. I know… because I used to do that.

And like he said, he believes me.

I shut my eyes and make myself calm down. I give a low sigh, out of pursed lips, like a whistle, and breathe out for ten counts. It helps ease my racing heart just enough for me to open my eyes again and look him in the face.

“I found it in the back of a cupboard, while I was looking for a candle holder,” I say slowly. “The light bulb in the lamp popped or went bad or something, and I didn’t want to turn on a light and wake you up with the brightness under the bedroom door. And… I wanted to have a drink. I did. I know I did. But I poured it out, okay? There’s probably still some of it in the sink if you want to check."

He nods, and a wry smile crosses his face.

“I don’t need to check,” he says gently, and he’s back to the Anon I’ve always known. “I trust you. You just gave me a scare there. You… you know what drinking could do to you. With how… rough things have gotten.”

I nod vigorously back.

“Oh, hell yes I do. That’s… that’s partially why, actually, I was able to say no to it. The other was what I knew it would do to you. That it would make me a liar, and I don’t want to lie to you. I’m… I’m better than that now.”

Stupid eyes. Stupid stupid eyes, now is not the time for tears. Nothing bad happened, no one is mad at me, everything is fine and good and I’m still starting to cry. I wipe a hasty hoof at the back of my eyes, and try to put on a smile, even if the corners waver.

Before I can say anything else, he crosses the short distance between us. He takes the candle out of my wax-stained hoof that has long-since gone somewhat numb, sets it into the neck of the bottle, and wraps me in a tight hug. I push my face against his abdomen, and the feeling of wanting to cry both increases and subsides, all at once. His shirt absorbs any evidence either way.

“Then I’m proud of you,” he says.

“Thanks,” I mumble back. “I’ll try to be proud of me too.”

We stand in silence in the kitchen for a bit, just him holding me there so I can listen to him breathing. He runs a hand down the back of my mane, kisses my forehead, and I feel him take a deep breath.

“Berry?” he says in a near whisper.

“Yeah?”

“...are those my boxers?”

I can’t help but let out a short laugh and step away from him. I wipe my face with my hoof, unable to keep from grinning. The bastard, he always was good at making me smile.

“Really?” I ask, shaking my head. “You’re asking me that now.”

“Well, yeah, it seemed relevant.”

“To what?!”

“To my interests.”

I groan and roll my eyes.

“If you must know,” I snap with a grin, “yes, they are in fact your boxers. It was a little cold, they were the first things I grabbed, so sue me.”

“Fair enough, but one more thing.”

“What?”

“Are they backwards?”

I again groan, and this time he begins to laugh, openly, as he realizes he’s right. I can feel myself blushing in embarrassment, which I’m sure he’ll just love, bully that he is. I give him a glare but he just smiles back at me.

“Awwww,” he says, pouting his lower lip. “Don’t worry, I think it’s cute. A little difficult to get access though, given the orientation.”

“UGH I needed someplace to put my tail!” I shout at him, side-stepping another hug. “Why are you so meeeean!”

“Because embarrassed Berry is one of my favorite Berries.”

“One of?”

“Well, yeah,” he says, as if this should be obvious. “There’s clever Berry, insulting Berry, happy Berry, naked Berry…”

“But I’m usually naked!”

“And I love that about you. But also there’s sleepy Berry, cuddly Berry, turned on, Berry grumpy Berry…”

“Okay, Okay!” I snap. “I get the idea. So which of those is your absolute favorite then?”

“Oh, that’s easy!” he scoffs.

“Turned on Berry?”

“Near the top of the list, definitely, but nope,” he says. “It’s got to be happy Berry. I love seeing you smile.”

My blush deepens, but sure enough, I still can’t help but smile.

“Well, lucky you, you’re good at making me happy,” I say with a sigh.

I stand on the tips of my back hooves and place my forelegs on his chest so I can reach him. At first I think of licking his nose or something else silly, but instead I stick with the classics, and plant a gentle, affectionate kiss on his lips. I feel his shoulder shake with a moment of pleased laughter, then he kisses me again.

“So,” he says between kisses. “Why were you awake then, if not for a late night drink?”

My expression falls a little, but I manage a shrug as I stand down back to all fours.

“I… couldn’t sleep,” I say simply.

He raises a skeptical brow at me.

“Any particular reason? Medical? Pain? Gas?”

I give him another glare, but I know he’s half serious. That has been a problem with me recently, and the meds to nothing to help with it. I remember when farts used to be funny, but now they’re just painful.

“No,” I say with a sigh. “I was… just thinking about things. Life and things.”

“Probably not the best thing to do at two in the morning.”

“Tell me about it,” I grumble. “But I just couldn’t stop thinking, couldn’t sleep. So I made a list of stuff I want to do. You know… before.”

His expression gets a little more serious, and he offers a brief nod of understanding.

“Ah. Yeah I’ve done that before. Did it help?”

“Not exactly,” I admit.

“Well, let’s take a look at it,” he says. “Maybe you’ve just been writing down the wrong kind of things.”

“Are you… are you criticizing my death list?”

“No, but I could potentially depending on if it’s shit.”

He smiles broadly at me, challenging. I nod towards the counter, only half-amused by his antics at this point.

“Well there it is, see what you think.”

He walks over to the list, lifts it, and runs his finger down it quickly, his eyes flashing in the candle light as he scans its contents. After a minute or two, he nods decisively.

“Actually, this doesn’t suck. I was afraid you’d been focusing on world peace or something dumb like that,” he says with a half-smirk. “But I think these are doable.”

“...doable?”

“We could handle most of these. Hell, we could do most of these in the next month if we really tried.”

I blink at him, unsure of really what to say to this. Is he implying that we can just… do everything on my list somehow? All of them? Now?

“Er… but… money. It’s a thing that’s needed for travel. And food. And violin lessons.”

“First of all, I didn’t even know you played the violin, so it’s nice to learn something new about you,” he winks at me. “Second, I have some saved up, and I know you do as well. And what are we saving it for, exactly? More tests? More savings for retirement? Seriously… we have enough to at least do some of these, so why not do it? I’ve talked about traveling for way too long now anyway, and I’ve only done it when visiting hospitals for different treatments, so… I say let’s do it.”

I shake my head, my brain not really comprehending what he’s saying. He’s saying it so casually, so flippantly, like it’s all easy as pie. He makes it sound almost hopeful. Almost real. Like I can reach out and touch it. I stammer a bit longer, then close my eyes, swallow hard, and fix him with a friendly, but stern look.

“Hey, you know, I don’t think I’m mentally equipped for this conversation right now,” I say, a nervous laugh in my voice. “I really think, first and foremost, I need to find a way to get to sleep. I’d love to discuss this in the morning but… my brain is full of fluff and stuff, and I need to rest and come at this with a clear mind. Okay?”

“Of course,” he says, setting down my list and coming back over to me. “This can definitely wait until morning. So, let’s get you to sleep. Warm milk? Herbal tea? A back rub? What do you think would do the trick.”

“Honestly, I have no idea,” I groan. “I tried just about everything and nothing worked! I just couldn’t get my mind to stop thinking or be tired or…”

I look up to find him giving me an almost ominous look. It’s… nearly creepy in the low lighting, and it’s downright mischievous. I study him, trying to figure out what this change of expression means, when he speaks up.

“You tried… everything?”

Although I can’t read his expression, I can definitely recognize that tone. I’m stunned for an instant, then blushing and smiling. I look away, smoothing my tousled mane back over one ear.

“Well, I suppose not everything,” I say softly. “Why, can you… think of something?”

I hear the rumble of his laugh in the darkness.

“Oh, I can definitely think of something I’d like to try. If you’re up for it.”

“If you think you can put me to sleep,” I say, looking up to meet his eyes, “then I say go for it. I’m all yours.”

As if those were the magic words he was waiting for, Anon swoops forward and snatches me up off the ground. He slings me over his shoulder and I, kicking my back hooves and laughing, squirm in his grasp.

“Hey, not so rough!” I whine.

“Do you really mean that?”

“...no.”

“Good.”

He picks up the wine bottle with the candle still in it, and turns towards the bedroom. I feel the light jostle of each step as he carries me to our shared sleeping quarters, steps inside the door, then sets the lit candle and bottle down on the nightstand.

“Going to let me down?” I ask, as he continues to hold me there. “Being carried bodily around like a sack of potatoes hardly makes me feel sexy.”

“If you insist!” he says lightly.

Then, he unceremoniously tosses me onto the bed. The springs squeak slightly as I bounce and give a soft cry of protest. Then he climbs in next to me, and I make a ‘tsk’ing noise at him with my tongue.

“Being mean again?” I ask him chidingly.

“Only because you like it.”

He positions his body over me and kisses me deeply on the mouth. I moan against his lips as I feel him re-adjusting his weight to somewhat pin me under him. I writhe a little against him in sport, and he puts one leg on either side of my lower half, effectively trapping me. As he breaks away from our kiss, I bat my eyes up at him innocently.

“But Anon my dear, you’re forgetting something,” I croon.

“Oh?”

His gaze follows mine as I direct him down towards the fact that I am still wearing his boxers. He stares at them, then back at me, then he looks almost sheepish for a second.

“Ah yes I… er… kind of got caught up there,” he says with a laugh.

“I mean, you could try it as is if you like,” I say jokingly. “Might be a little difficult but…”

“You know, that’s not a bad idea!”

“...what?”

“You’ll see,” he says sweetly, then again lowers himself down to kiss me.

I don’t know how he thinks this is going to work, but given how good his kisses are, and how warm I can feel the area between my legs getting, and even how I can feel him growing harder by the second against my thigh… I definitely have no complaints. I’ll see where he wants to go with this.

Anon’s weight pushes down on me further, and I feel him move his hips forward in small, suggestive thrusts. I know this routine, him teasing me until I tell him I want him, or even beg depending on how much further he’s willing to push it. I move back against him, feeling the hard mass in his own boxers pressing almost painfully against my clothed marehood. I can feel the rest of him react when I do that well, almost a flinch from his legs all the way too his shoulders. I can also feel his lips curl into a smile where they are locked with mine. He may be wanting me to beg, but it’s obvious how desperate he is to get inside me as well.

I put my head back into the pillow to end the kiss, and fix him in the eyes with an accusing look. He blinks backs, feigning ignorance. It’s almost maddening how stubborn he is about this, but if I ever want things to get moving a little faster, I know what to do. I sigh in exasperation.

“Please fuck me,” I murmur.

He grins in triumph and plants a quick kiss on my forehead.

“But of course. See, was that so hard?”

“Something certainly is,” I say with a smirk, arching my body against him.

He shuts his eyes, trying to keep his expression steady after my sudden attack, but his smile doesn’t flinch. Then, as he opens his eyes, he swings his leg back off of me so he can undress. I admire, nearly leering, as he removes his shirt, then takes down his underwear, his dick catching only briefly on the waistband. Sure enough, he’s so hard for me that it’s all I can do not to drool or make some sort of “mmmm”ing noise in appreciation. Don’t want to make him self conscious though, just want him to get back over here. Immediately.

I too move to take off the boxers, but he’s already climbing back onto me, this time with his knees set between my back legs, holding them squarely apart and slightly upwards. As he leans down towards my upper half, I can see the tips of my own hooves suspended in the air behind him.

“B-but…” I start to protest.

Is he just going to keep teasing me like this? Don’t get me wrong, a little foreplay is fine, but the craving is a real, strong, driving force now. If he’s angling to get me to genuinely beg, he’s just about there.

Then, I feel his fingers snaking up my inner leg. Deftly, he slides his hand up the leg of the boxers, running his finger tips up the entire length of my pussy. My back arches and spasms with the unexpected sensation, and I instinctively bite my lower lip to hold back a whimper. When I look back to his face, he’s smiling so knowingly. It’s obvious he has a plan, and I’m just supposed to lie back and enjoy it.

I part my legs a little more to give him better access, and now he slides one of his fingers inside me. It’s not the same as his dick, and there are times I don’t want to be touched first, just penetrated so I can feel that sudden, delightful change when I go from closed and empty, to open and overly full. But right now, the way he moves his hand forward, then back, stroking in an almost ‘come hither’ motion, I’m completely swept away in my own feelings. If he wanted to, he could get me off in minutes, just by doing that.

Now I really do moan, leaning my cheek against the pillow and gritting my teeth so I don’t tip over the edge too fast. I want to enjoy this. I want this to at least last a little while. And I’d rather cum with him inside me, not just with him playing me like an instrument. It’s a struggle, though. Every stroke he makes, every time his finger goes into the base, pressing the backs of his fingers against my clit, I have to focus or I’ll get caught up in a whirlwind of pleasure, and be completely lost.

“Please,” I breathe out, feeling I’m losing the fight. “Please fuck me, Anon.”

I feel his movements pause, then he draws his finger back out of me, making sure to hit every sensitive part of me on the way. I feel my hips buck on their own, trying to keep any part of him inside me, and I allow myself a whine of wanting.

“If you insist,” he says chidingly.

If I wasn’t blushing entirely before, I’m sure I am now. I feel his hand move against my inner legs again, this time pulling the leg of the boxers wider. They fit so loosely on my small frame that it’s easy for him to position the opening so it lines up with my own, and I feel a cool rush of air against my bare and wet privates. The fabric tightens on the outer part of my flank and I feel him position his hips closer to me, inching forward. Then, I feel him pressing the head against the opening, hesitating for a moment. One more second of teasing, one more prompt for me to ask. I shut my eyes and hold my breath for an instant, knowing what he’s going to do, and that I have to be the one to give him the go ahead. I try to brace my body.

“Ple-”

Before I can finish the word, and the very sound of my own voice like a starter pistol, Anon shoves his entire length into me. My head tips back, and he catches the small of my back as my body contorts in a mixture of pleasure and pain, holding me down onto him. My eyes fly open, and a cry of anguish erupts from my throat. In the back of my mind, I thank god that my neighbors don’t leave their windows open at night.

Anon waits, lodged as deep in me as he can go, while my muscles contract, then begin to relax. At last, my body falls back entirely against the mattress. I open my eyes and look at him through bleary vision. He tilts his head at me.

“Better?” he says.

I nod vigorously, and he takes this as his cue to begin moving.

Sometimes when we have sex, he starts slow, building up, changing the pace gradually until there’s no space to breathe between my moans. Those are often the most gentle orgasms, the most intense. But here, he begins with deep, hard, forceful thrusts. They’re not fast, but each one has a power behind it that is completely unyielding. I can feel him hitting the back every time, and with each motion I let out another whimper or cry.

My hooves dig into his arms, and my legs press against his back and rear, urging him to keep going, to keep this up. It may hurt some, but it also feels amazing. An electric shock to my brain every time, an injection like drugs to my lower belly. It’s better than being drunk, better than any high I’ve known, and I never want him to cease.

It’s all so good, in fact, that I can already feel I won’t last long. I bite down on my lower lip so hard that I’m afraid I’ll make it bleed, but I can only hold of for a short time more, I’m sure of it. My hips are already rolling forward before each onslaught, begging him to be deep inside me again, begging for the pain, the pleasure, the rush. My heart is already pounding so hard that I can hear it in my ears. I want to stay like this for as long as I can, but the struggle is becoming too great, ready to overpower me.

The slap of his groin against my clothed pelvis continues in a moderate, unrelenting rhythm, but my movements beg for him to go faster, even harder if he can. I want to cum around his cock, I want him to feel me twitch and clench around him. I want him to know that he pleases me so thoroughly that I’ll soon be a panting, brainless, quivering mass beneath him. That I love him, want him, and need him.

All at once, as if sensing through my body how close I am, I feel him pull back and wait, almost outside of me. I whimper, almost sounding like crying with how close I was, and look up at him pleadingly. His face is serene, patient.

I also know this game. I know what he’s waiting for. He wants me to relax, to not see it coming, to be completely unable to guard my reaction. I just have to wait until he wants to, until he thinks I will…

With an abrupt movement, Anon slams his hips into me again, penetrating all the way to the back in one thrust. I let out a muted scream, and my legs shake uncontrollably on either side of his body. I don’t look up, but I know he’s wearing that smug, self-satisfied half-smirk. He loves it when I react this way, unable to hold back, unable to mask how much I’m enjoying myself. I wish I could say I hated when he did this, but I don’t. It’s such a unique feeling, being so suddenly filled with him, and as he again begins to thrust regularly, I keep time with him in my own body.

“I… I can’t…” I mumble out, unable to make my eyes focus on his face.

Luckily, he knows what I mean, and I feel him increase his pace just a touch. Each stoke is still just as forceful as before.

“It’s okay, cum,” he says in a breathy voice.

I can tell he’s not quite there yet, but he’s still enjoying me immensely, taking delight in using my body like this. That knowledge is enough to send me down the spiral of pleasure without any ability to stop myself.

As I sense the crawling tenseness in my inner legs, the spiking, sharp sensation of building ecstasy, I let my mouth open, panting openly, wantonly. I need all the air I can get as the pleasure builds and builds, his speed picking up, my whole body trembling until… until…

Feeling that I am about to release, Anon vigorously pumps me only a few more times, then thrusts in to the hilt and holds himself there as I at last climax. My eyes roll back, my hooves dig into his arms, and my back legs crinkle and fold across his back, holding him in. My pussy clenches, wet and well-used, and a sound like a tortured creature floats up from my lips, mingled with his name.

Then, all at once, my body relaxes, every muscle nearly non-existent with how light it feels. My brain no longer feels attached to my body, and my front hooves fall limply to either side of my head. I just lie there, quaking, breathing hard, small whines echoing from my mouth on occasion. My whole body contracts once or twice as the roll of the orgasm continues for some minutes. All the while, I can still feel him inside me, hard, foreign, and warm.

I’m sure I’ve completely destroyed this pair of his boxers now, with how wet everything feels down there, but I’d like to think he has no regrets. I’ve never been fucked while wearing clothing before, and I can’t say I exactly hate it. Especially if it’s turned him on so much to screw me while I’m wearing his underwear.

After a moment of stillness, I feel Anon start to pull away, pull out of me. With what little strength I have left, I pull my back hooves tight around him, not allowing him to retreat. I turn my head back to look up at him, and he gives me a questioning expression.

“Don’t you… still… want to?” I say between breaths, with a weak smile.

He smiles naturally at my words, but I see him again try to contain himself.

“You sure you can take that?” he asks.

It’s a genuine question, he knows how sensitive I get. But I give him a slow nod, and roll my hips up towards him to take in more of his cock. I feel him shudder between my legs, and something between a laugh and a gasp flows from his lips. I want to get him off too, want to feel him empty himself inside of me, want to please him with my body, just as he has done for me.

I don’t have to tell him twice.

Gradually at first, out of courtesy, he begins to move again. I feel the way my opening contracts strongly around him with each movement in a miniature jolt of pleasure and ache. I feel so tight now, I can tell, and I have to bite down on the pillow next to me to withstand the over-stimulation rippling out from where he penetrates me.

Then, his pace quickens. He’s not focused on pleasing me now, and he finds his own sporadic rhythm, this time a much faster one. He keeps thrusting deep, but the strokes are shorter now, rapid, and he grabs onto my waist and legs, drawing my lower half to him each time to get better leverage. Around where I’m biting the pillow, I moan, whimper, groan, and gasp. It’s a lot of sensation, almost too much to take. But I can manage it. For him.

I hear his breathing becoming ragged, and I know he’s not far off now. Finding his breakneck pace, I buck my hips with him, showing him how much I want him, want this. He gives slight groans of desire, and I feel the muscles in his legs go taught.

“Berry,” he whispers. “Gonna cum…”

“Do it,” I beg him aloud. “Cum in me. Cum for me.”

I look up into his eyes to let him see my want for him, my affections, my need. Like flipping a switch, his hands tighten around my hips, digging into my flesh, and he drives his cock into me to stay. He groans, then collapses across my body like a blanket. I feel him pulse inside me, spilling his seed throughout me until it drips out onto the bed. The tingle caused by his orgasm sends a soft moan out of me as well, and I hold him against my chest to feel the heat of his breath across my fur.

We remain like that, him still lodged in me, him spread across my spent form, me breathing hard from exhaustion. Together. Just us. The world has ceased to exist in our minds.

Far too few minutes pass, even if it was an hour or more, before he props himself up on his elbows and looks me in the face.

“Thanks for that,” he murmurs, and kisses me lovingly on the cheek, nose, then mouth.

I laugh softly, and kiss him back in nearly the same way.

“Same to you. I think I can safely say I’m tired enough to sleep now.”

“I should hope so, you did very well there, considering.”

I shrug.

“What can I say, you need to sleep too, right?” I say, shimmying my hips a little.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t adore the way his body shivers in surprise and shocked delight when I do that. He lets out a little breath as he again tries to relax his body, and shoots me a knowing look.

“I will definitely sleep well tonight,” he says, then gives me one more kiss as he draws his cock out of me.

I can feel the brief, soft splash of our combined fluids soak the fur between my legs, but I think I’ll leave it be for now. A memory I can find in the morning of what we did the night before, something I’ll wear as a badge of honor for now. Besides, I think I'm beginning to like wearing boxers.

Anon flops down next to me, and draws my much smaller body to his side, with my head resting against his chest. I nuzzle into his bare skin, and find that perfect little place below his collarbone where my head rests naturally. Like it’s supposed to be there.

“So, before we sleep,” Anon says. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Hmm?” I say, still caught up in how good he smells after having sex.

“Would you prefer to go to Saddle Arabia or Prance first? We can get tickets tomorrow, probably for decent prices.”

I’m silent and still for an instant, then I raise my head to look him in the eyes. The low, dying candle-light frames his face neatly in black, like a painting or charcoal pencil sketch. He’s smiling at me so warmly, so lovingly, that I don’t even have to ask if he’s serious. Right then, I could go nowhere in the world ever again, and just stay right there until my time came, and I would be happy.

“Actually, do you mind if we hit the zoo first?” I ask with a gentle smile of my own.

He sighs in fake disappointment.

“Well, if you insist, but I doubt they’ll have any stinky cheese there.”

“We’ll just have to save stinky cheese for the next trip then,” I say.

I offer a quick kiss to his cheek, then put my head back into its proper resting space. I listen to him breathe in and out, and for that moment the sound of him just being there with me, alive, is enough to drown out the ticking clock in my head. The next trip. There will be a next one. I have time. There’s still time, for now, and I have every reason to be hopeful about the future, no matter how much of it there is left.

“I’ll buy us our passes tomorrow,” Anon says. “But you have to promise me you won’t hog the leaves at the giraffe feeding station this time, okay?”

I laugh softly, loving the way the sensation feels in my mouth. I need to laugh more, I think to myself. Lucky me, I have someone in my life who can help with that.

“It’s a deal,” I say, closing my eyes in real rest for perhaps the first time tonight. “But only because I love you.”

-END-

Author's Note

Today, you are alive. Today you have time to do what you want, how you want, when you want. Life doesn't always work out as planned, and sometimes things get in the way and we forget to smile, to laugh, to live. But don't give up, because right now, in the moment, as you read, you are still alive. And even if everything else is shitty, at least that much doesn't suck, and I'm glad you're around.

Take care of yourselves and each other as best you can. I'll try to do the same.

Love,
Pencil

P.S. ...does this sex scene count as kinky? I don't know if I know what 'normal' sex is anymore.